


He Who Searches for Himself

by YuukiHikari



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alchemy, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brothers, Canon - First Anime, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Drama, Explicit Language, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Foreign Language, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Original Character(s), Plot Twist, Plotty, Revenge, Self-Discovery, Violence, Wordcount: Over 50.000, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuukiHikari/pseuds/YuukiHikari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing up and moving forwards feels a lot more like picking yourself up and trudging onwards. A continuation of the 2003/04 series where episode 51 leaves off - Edward's journey to return home and Alphonse's journey to find his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trains in Opposite Directions

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - This story picks directly after the point where episode 51 left off (timeline wise for both Ed and Al). My interpretation of events (in regards to flow and passage of time, the purpose of the Gate, etc) is different than what was established by CoS.
> 
> A/N2 - Huge thank you to AmunRa for her beta services! She is fantastic!
> 
> A/N3 - Polished up for AO3.

 

 

"Al!" Izumi barked from a rickety wooden bench she occupied, "Get back from there!" her narrowed expression was locked in a disapproving frown.

"It's fine! I just wanted to take a closer look!" Al called back, placing a hand on the cold, metal side of the train engine. His voice lowered as he spoke to himself, "I've seen them go by many times, but these ones are so different," his eyes were still 'new' – fresh with youth and full of renewed life most days. He laughed lightly as a thought crossed his mind, _'Maybe this is what I get for spending so much time with Winry!'_ He pressed the tips of his fingers harder against the cold steel, his lips curling in amusement, _'She'll be jealous when I tell her I was close and personal with the latest engines coming out of Central.'_

Izumi slapped her hands down to her knees, standing up sharply, "You'll have your ticket taken away if you don't get yourself behind the white line, _now_!" It didn't matter if the statement was entirely true or not, her commanding voice made it so and that's all that mattered since it got the boy to scamper backwards.

It was too nice of a day to have anything else go wrong.

Alphonse straightened his pale-green, button-down shirt with a sharp tug. It was a bit too disconcerting to think just how much trouble he'd be in if someone took his ticket away twenty minutes before they were going to board. His teacher didn't have to say anything to him; Alphonse knew well enough that she hadn't been happy when their train pulled into the station too late. From the delays that ensued, the pair had been forced to wait for a nine o'clock departure that evening and Al wasn't interested in exacerbating the travel issues any further.

Turning away from the train, Alphonse ran back up the platform stairs; his feet leaving a dull thump on each wooden plank. Shuffling his feet as he finished his ascent, the boy looked up sheepishly into his teachers stern expression, "The trains travelled by all the time, but we always stayed away from the tracks. Mom said it wasn't safe. It's different here; I wanted to have a look."

'We' was, by default, still Edward and Alphonse Elric.

Izumi shook her head as she let the air in her lungs slowly escape through her nostrils. Rolling her shoulders, she sat back down onto the paint-peeled, wooden bench, "It's the same train that parks in Rizembool for thirty minutes every twelve hours."

Al's eyes widened in protest, "But there's only one track going through Rizembool Station! There's…" he spun on his toes and scampered to the railing of the platform - it hung as a canopy over the tracks below, "... two in here and more outside! The platforms are huge, there's a roof overhead and floor is concrete. It's nothing like the old wooden one in Rizembool!"

The teacher stared at him for a moment before choking back a laugh and speaking under her breath, "Boys… I don't know what I'd do with you if you were a gir-"

Izumi stopped, startled by a sense that turned on like a red alarm in the back of her mind whenever someone was watching. Izumi's gaze slipped to her left, searching for what set it off. Finally, she caught a fair face and a pair of eyes that quickly vanished behind the veil of dark on a young girl fidgeting on the adjacent bench. Izumi watched the girl for a few moments as her hands nervously wove in and out of her skirt ends. Frowning, the teacher dismissed the peering young lady, leaned back in the bench, and closed her eyes.

Children are innocent enough.

The metal roof over the train station was both a blessing and a curse. It was kind enough to keep the sun out - spring was in full swing and summer was threatening to show up a little early. The travelling pair would admit to themselves that they were each a little cranky and overtired, having barely slept in the bouncy overnight train ride, and to have been stuck outside under the sun on a clear, bright day just wasn't very appealing. The curse was how the metal roof did a fantastic job of trapping the daytime heat and roasting the protected contents like a slow cooking oven. Thankfully there was a semi-potent draft.

Exhaustion from the sleepless night caused time to skip and in what felt like mere moments after Izumi’s eyes had fallen the boarding call came over the broadcast system. The shrill noise jolted her to attention and the woman pulled herself uncomfortably to her feet. Izumi put a hand to the back of her tense and sore neck, giving a shout out for Alphonse. The child's voice echoed back and she could hear his distinct footsteps pounding along the platform towards her. Reaching for the luggage dumped at her feet, Izumi once again noticed the teenage girl, this time she headed down the staircase towards the train's platform. The teacher puzzled over the girl; she seemed to be trying so hard to be discrete that it was nothing more than painfully obvious for Izumi – of all people – to pick up on.  Why was she watching them?

With a grin, Al snapped up his luggage and bound down the stairs once again, filtering into the crowds of people shuffling along.

"Al! Stay close by!"

He stopped as requested, dancing around as he dodged the crowds of people that were still moving. Frowning, Alphonse rolled his eyes, "She's being so over protective… mom wasn't so-"

"Oh, she's _not_ your mother?"

The interrupting voice caught Al's attention. His startled expression turned to the female voice standing next to him. It was the dark-haired girl again, but for Alphonse it was the first time he'd noticed her. She almost looked surprised at herself that she'd actually said something aloud. The two stared in silence at each other for a moment before she bowed her head, embarrassed, and looked away. Her prominent blue eyes glanced around nervously and lost in the feet of those who passed by.

Al finally caught himself staring at her and quickly snapped to his senses, "Um, no she's not," he suddenly lit up his voice with his natural brightness, "she's… been kinda like a mother though."

It wasn't the easiest topic for him to discuss and Alphonse wondered if maybe his sudden response had sounded too contrived. There was still unease for him about the topic of his relationship with Izumi, and then to reference it against his mother was something Al was not entirely sure how to handle. As he was now, the sensation of his lost mother, though many years past, was a memory that seemed not even a year old. For everyone around him, time had graciously healed many wounds, but Al's young memories had been ripped wide open with razors and then dusted with salt. It was an uncomfortable feeling he tried desperately to cover up.

He shook it off and looked back at the girl puzzled, allowing himself to wonder where the question came from. The silence between the two grew longer and stronger and Alphonse began to wonder if he was even supposed to comment further. Again he was staring, watching as her hair bounced around her arms while people brushed past. He felt caught by how the morning sunlight entered her eyes from between the cracks in the roof and he did not understand why it felt as though it wasn't he who was supposed to say something else.

Al's gaze slowly shifted towards his feet. They'd both stopped moving and regardless if they were children or not, the crowd around them would have none of it and both suddenly found themselves shoved by those around them. Suddenly, Alphonse heard her voice again.

"I'm sorry, it's not something you want to talk about. I'm sorry I brought it up."

Al put his smile up for her, "No, it's fine, don't feel bad for tha-" he choked as he was shoved aside by a man much taller than he. He turned to reorient himself, but from the corner of his vision, Alphonse saw the girl get sucked away into the flowing crowd. Without being able to process what on earth had just happened, the young Elric found himself lurching backwards, not by his own choice.

Izumi had grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

"You're having hearing problems today!" she barked, giving an open-palmed smack square in the center of Alphonse's back, "you'd think that everyone on this platform was in a fire drill. It's not like the train is too small for everyone, but they push and shove like they'll be left behind."

"Maybe you should sleep on the train," Alphonse looked up at his teacher, using his mother's concerned gaze to look back at her – it seemed to work so well on everyone.

Now part of the passenger crowd-flow, Izumi shuffled along, Al following at her side. She looked at him with a half grin before ruffling his hair, "If I'd wanted to sleep on the train, I would have gotten us tickets for the front car."

* * *

Cursing, Edward scrambled to pick up the papers he'd dropped on the floor. The bumps on this train ride were becoming more troublesome and grossly annoying.

"You'd think they could at least put a little effort into repairing the tracks _properly_. The war's been over for years," he snorted, having barely gotten a third of his papers re-organized – the rest remained thrown about the private cabin. He narrowed an eye when a knock came at the door.

"Sir?"

Ed stepped thru his mess of papers to flip the lock, "Yes?"

Regardless of the rough ride, this particular train line service was one of the best. Edward had stopped being surprised that all of the concierges on this train were so proper, including this nicely painted, middle-aged, female attendant standing at his door, "You requested earlier, that since we were not stopping in Reichenhall, to know when we entered Austria."

"Ah yes, thank you," Edward was about to close the door on her, but a question caught him and he turned a confused look back to the woman, "Isn't it Czechoslovakia?"

The woman's expression was empty as she gave an answer, "The world keeps changing. I think Czechoslovakia is the division to the north, not the south. I'm Swiss, Sir, I haven't had much of a chance to keep up."

"That’s fine.  Forget I mentioned it," He scratched his head vigorously, muttering to himself as he pushed the door shut, "doesn't matter anyways."

Edward sat down on the floor of his train cabin. Disgusted with the situation, all he could really do was use his right arm as a paperweight. Muttering to himself, Ed brushed the shoe print marks off of his papers. Over time, he had gotten use to the paralyzed sensation of his right arm that clanked around him as he moved. It was an unsightly metal decoration he hid under his clothing.

The curtains to the room were pulled wide to allow the daytime to flow in. From the floor, Ed gazed up towards the window. The mid-day light should have been enough to engulf him and fill everything with noontime, but the sunlight here never seemed to illuminate anything like he remembered. Colour was always muted, not to the point of being grey or monotone, but just enough so that nothing was ever vibrant. Ed stared out the window into the smoky-blue sky that held no clouds. His expression relaxed as he sat back on his knees; his shoulders fell and mind emptied. His eyes shut and without realizing it, he'd lost track of the world around him.

The train hit another mangled section of track and he jiggled around the floor, smacking his chin against the seat.

Edward snapped his eyes back open. Brushing his bangs from his face, Ed looked at the papers tossed about carelessly on the floor, _again_ , "Damn it!" He briskly swept up his papers and began stuffing them into envelopes, "Why I can't ever get anything done on these damned trains," his eyes shot across the floor, "Can't lose that," he grabbed his Vienna transfer information tucked it into his chest pocket, "Last thing I need to do is get lost in Austria."

* * *

Al twitched in his place, crossing his legs as he slouched in his seat. He reached out and put a hand on his kneecap while putting his chin in the other hand.

"What…?" Izumi spoke in a dull monotone.

"Nothing," Al replied, mimicking her disinterest.

"What…?" Izumi repeated, not changing her tone.

"I need to go to the washroom," squirming a bit, Alphonse didn't need to look at her; he could feel the annoyed aura that flared up.

"I told you, you should have gone-"

"I know what you said!" he interjected, quickly wishing he hadn't.

"Don't cut me off when I am talking to you!" Izumi exploded like a bolt of lightning, standing up from her seat. Al withered into his seat, chirping out apologies as she loomed over him.

"Excuse me?"

Izumi attention jerked over her shoulder and Al peered out from the ball he'd curled up in.

Clenching her fists, the girl from the train platform straightened her knee-length, mauve dress and pulled her dark hair over her shoulders. Though her hands were clenched tight, her arms couldn't hold firm enough to hide her nerves, "I'm sorry, but your voice bothers me."

Amongst the three, an awkward silence hit like a heavy, old gong, with a ringing that vibrated long after the strike had fallen to create the sound. It took the girl a moment to realize just how rude her statement had sounded, but if it hadn’t felt like it had been taken out of context, it wasn't rude at all – and entirely true.

Izumi slowly turned around, the exhausted dark circles under her eyes gave a demonic look to her expression, "I'm sorry young lady, but _pardon me_ …?"

Taking a startled a step backwards, the girl choked, "I…"

"Where are your parents?" Izumi snarled, "Do they know you speak to your elders this way?"

The girl raised her hands in front of herself in defence, "I wasn't talking about you," her eyes shifted beyond Izumi, "I was talking about him."

"You're the girl from the platform," Al came to his feet, saddling up beside his teacher.

Izumi allowed herself to deflate but held a suspicious look over the girl – keeping her at bay. She had been the one who'd tried so hard to eyeball them at the platform, Izumi had known that the moment she'd heard her voice, "So, beyond the apology you're going to give in thirty seconds, did you have any particular reason for watching us all morning?"

"Oh…" she looked down at her feet, her jaw remaining firm. She had really hoped they hadn't seen, "I didn't mean to stare, but something's been bothering me since I came through the turnstiles. I'm confused and I'm sure my memory isn't wrong. At least, not that wrong. Something's not adding up but I don't know what."

Izumi put her shoulder to the wall of the car, shifting her balance to the side of the train. She thought a moment, wondering if she was just too tired for that to have made any sense, or if it honestly just _didn't_ make any sense, "Come around and have a seat."

The girl slid around to eagerly take the invite. Quickly sitting down and brushing her dress smooth, she shifted her attention back to Alphonse, watching as he sat back down, "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so rude."

"You had something to say back at the station, didn't you?" Al blurted unintentionally. He hadn't realized how much the question had been festering in the back of his mind. He'd been so curious and never considered for a moment that he'd get the chance to find out what had been missed on that platform. The question had simply been filed away to be forgotten.

Izumi looked over to Al, "Alphonse, do you know her?"

Al shook his head, "No, but we talked on the platform," he looked over to her again.

"Oh…" the teenager frowned a bit as she scratched her cheek, brushing her dark hair over one shoulder, "I guess it couldn't have been you anyways, you're not right at all," she was, again, unintentionally abrupt. But she couldn't help but examine Alphonse, and continually look at him as though he were being compared to a memory, "but still… just… um, do you have a brother? Is his name Ed?"

Al heard the words in his head like her voice was calling to him from outside a sealed jar. The distorted sounds that could reach him echoed around his mind like they were trapped in the barrel of an oil drum.

"Edward Elric? I think he's an alchemist. Are you? Maybe you don't?"

Al stared in her direction, but could not see her anymore. His mind was elsewhere and the train car no longer vibrated beneath him. The breeze from the window that had been playing with the loosest ends of his hair ceased to exist and finally the clouds stopped their travel in the crystal blue sky.

 _Why this?_

 _Why now?_

Izumi promptly cut the line of communication that had begun to strangle Al, "Why do you ask?" she chose to smile for the question, crossing her legs and lacing her fingers around the highest kneecap.

The girl looked away from Al, uncertain how she should react to his sudden detachment, "Something like five or six years ago, two alchemists were in our town, when I lived in the county next to the train station where we got on. It was two boys, I guess not much older than me, but I'm certain their names were Ed and Al Elric."

Izumi slowly exhaled as the girl continued.

"It was something that was kind of hard to forget, they were pretty unique. After they left, my dad heard that one the boys who'd helped me ended up becoming a State Alchemist, but…" she looked to Al again, hoping he'd pulled himself back together, "your voice… I could have sworn you were supposed to be at least six feet tall. It was so unforgettable: this big suit of armour and little boy's voice.”  She raised her arms above her head almost to remind herself how it felt to be in that towering presence, "And I would have thought after 5 years and being so tall that your voice would have changed like boys voices do. I never ever thought I'd hear it again," her arms fell into her lap and she neatly clasped her hands, "See, it makes no sense."

Izumi leaned back, lifting her arms to hang off the back of the seat, "Five years changes a lot. And you're right, it doesn't make a lot of sense. I'm pretty sure you have the wrong person," her voice had softened up to the wise voice of a teacher that had so often given a couple of boys more than enough information for one lifetime…

"This boy is my son, Alphonse Curtis, he's my only child. I'm sorry dear."

The girl shifted uneasily in her place and allowed her eyes to narrow ever so slightly. She began brushing her dress smooth again, "I'm sorry to have bothered you like this. Thank you though."

"I'm curious. What's your name?" Izumi smiled her mother's smile, "and don't apologize. If you weren't observant, then I doubt your parents would let you travel alone, would they?"

"Klose," she replied, again brushing her hair behind her shoulders like a nervous habit, "and my dad sent for me. He's already in Central. I don't really have anyone who can take me there, so I'm okay to go on my own. He said he trusts me. Dad would come home if he could but the terms are he can only get leave in Central. He left me with train tokens if I wanted to visit."

Not allowing her distain for the topic to enter her voice, Izumi made sure to keep their conversation going, "Ah, your father's in the military?"

Klose nodded, "He signed on about 6 months ago. He didn't want anything to do with the military recruitment before the government fell. He despised the thought of what had gone on in Ishibal and Lior, but there was really nothing he could do about any of it. He volunteered when he was given the chance to help the people rebuild, kind of like his way of showing support for the progress the country is trying to make," the more she spoke, the more she seemed to glow from ear to ear, proudly talking about her father the peacekeeper and not war monger. "A few squadrons were sent to aide Ishibal in their rebuilding process and my father was part of that team. The squads have been rotated, so he's back in Central for a while, and now I get to visit."

So much had changed in the world over the last few months.

Izumi smiled at her, "Your father is a good man."

"Thank you, but," Klose put her hands on her knees, pushing up to her feet, "I'm sorry, I should go back to my seat. I shouldn't have bothered you with any of this."

"It's fine and stop being so sorry," Izumi grinned for her, waving a hand as the girl moved swiftly back up to her ticketed seat.

As Klose spun herself into her seat, out of the sight of the teacher’s prying eye, Izumi’s arms firmly folded across her chest and she flung her right knee over the left. She wasn't convinced, not in the slightest, that Klose had been was mistaken.

Izumi took her focus away from the child who'd retreated from their space – there was a more pressing issue that needed to be dealt with: the one that sat next to her.

"Al?" Izumi spoke quietly, "Al?" she nudged him. His frozen expression was trained on his faint reflection in the train window. Izumi reached an arm around him but Alphonse rolled his shoulders in refusal. More stubborn than an eleven-year-old, Izumi reached her arm around again, this time, rather than having the boy at his shoulders, she wrapped the arm around his neck. Though he tried to duck away from her, Izumi took her other hand and slid her fingers up the side of his face and into his hair. She held him there, tucked into her side. Nothing was said. Izumi shifted, pulling him tight into the curve of her side, resting his head in the space at her shoulder, along her collar bone. She put her chin down into the soft bed of hair and talked to him silently through the brush of her fingertips in a way that she knew her words couldn't reach.

It was such a festering, open wound that just did not want to shut. Izumi tried to be the strong, stern teacher that she'd established, but for Alphonse, and for this, she just preferred to be the soothing mother figure that she was scarcely allowed to be.

Al's distant voice emerged, "I remember when we sat out back with Rose and her baby; she told me the story about the Priest in Lior. She told me about Scar and Dante, she told me about a lot of things she knew. It was so unbelievably bizarre. The story had so much of me in it, but I couldn't remember any of it. It was just a story with my name in it; nothing more. I feel some days like I have more in common with Den than anyone else."

He took a moment to breathe and suddenly felt light headed. Izumi waited silently, allowing him to speak whenever he was ready, without interruption.

"When I woke up, Rose was there and she was the first one I saw. By the time I'd heard more stories, I'd already felt like I knew Rose in some way. She'd taken me home, she could speak to me about things we'd done together and her voice meant something. There was an understanding about me when I talked with her; I didn't feel so out of place," Alphonse's hands began to fiddle with zipper on his jacket. He jerked the head sharply up and the bottom length of teeth, "But no matter how many times they told me, everything they said just wasn't real. It was real, it had happened to me, but it wasn't real."

Everyone in Alphonse's current life knew that he'd felt that way, even if he rarely voiced it.

"They would leave and it was like closing a book; you put it down and the story stops. The only thing that made it real was when I looked at Winry and could see how old she was," Al shifted in his place, relaxing in Izumi's arm, wishing for no one to see him, "and I looked at that girl like she was just some girl on the train, nobody special to me. But, she could look at me like I was someone that meant something to her. I didn't realize I was supposed to have cared, or that I should have known," he stopped for a moment, quieted by how tight Izumi's grasp on him had gotten, "she can tell me about me and my brother; some part of that storybook life that I can't convince myself is real. I can't remember it. She's the only one here now who remembers us and how we were on those days we'd met. And the only thing I could remember about her when she sat down…" Al trailed off, his voice unsuccessful in its attempt to remain emotionless as possible.

Izumi glanced down to Al, unable to see his face, "What could you remember?" she asked quietly.

"That I liked how her eyes looked in the sunlight when she stood at the station today."

* * *

Edward hung out the train cabin window. The vehicle had parked at a station for half an hour for passenger turnover and some track adjustment down the line. His cheek rested on the rusty metal frame, "It's so hot in here… is it supposed to be this hot in August? There has to be something wrong with this country.” He whined bitterly to himself with his his jacket, vest, and shoes thrown in a heap in the corner of the room. The hotter the weather got on this train ride, the hotter his arm got and that just made things worse. Edward and his father were not AutoMail engineers, but with their heads put together from what they'd observed of the Rockbells over many years, the heavy metal arm was the best either of them could come up with. Edward had given up cursing the stiff arm some time ago; it was almost a lost cause. Right now the only thing he seemed to be interested in was a passing thought on whether or not the temperature would make the paint run on the Danube station sign. Ed adjusted his ponytail, having mastered the one and a half arm technique of doing so, and yanked it higher to keep his hair off the back of his neck. Relaxing on the window's edge, he wasn't given enough time to feel any peace before a little voice poked him in the face from the platform below.

"Paper, sir?!"

Ed didn't even bother to open his eyes, "Shoo kid."

"I have Weiner Tagblatt, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, Angewandte Chemie, Weiner Zeitung! Come on! They're only a spot!"

Edward swung his left arm out freely and used the tips of his fingers to flick the child's oversized hat askew, "I told you to shoo, didn't I?" He cracked an eye open at the feeble skeleton of a child. A trail of sweat ran down the boy’s face and the skin stretched on the child's body seemed to be a more pale grey than any shade of pink. His wide eyes stared back at Ed desperately; the healthiest thing about it seemed to be the determination to sell a single newspaper.

Ed picked his head up slowly from the ledge, "Your papers are all German. I can't take them through all the places I'm going. Sorry."

"Zeitung isn't!" The child shoved a thin and scrunched publication into Ed's face, "It's from Vienna! I promise."

Ed put a scowl on and fell back into his cabin room. Moments later reappearing as he tossed a few coins to the feeble child, "I'll take that, go away."

The child tossed the paper up to Edward as he marched away, continuing along his daily pilgrimage of the train's platform, "Thank you for your patronage!" he called back.

Ed blinked, "Patronage?"

Shaking his head, Ed uncoiled the paper and promptly slit his eyes at the front page of the publication. An eyebrow twitched as he scowled at the newsprint, "It's old…" he scratched his head vigorously as he tossed the paper aside, "Damn, I'm tired of reading about what new province or border they're making up for whomever. I'll read an Austrian paper next year, maybe by then they'll decide what part of the country to leave Vienna in."

He flung himself down on the seat and sprawled out as best he could. Ed sank a bit into the light cushioning and shut his eyes. There was that overly entertaining thought again: Goddard's works. His mind could feverously run through Goddard's works and manipulate his theories to some glorious advantage – something which had become a boredom ritual for him.

Edward Elric had refused – outright refused – to accept his existence as it was.

There was somewhere else he had to be.

There was a place to return to.

Yet, as he lay there, the harder he thought about Goddard's works, the more his concentration drifted and the more an abused, distorted, and painful memory played again vividly in his mind.

His cheek twitched at a faint sound.

"Ed…?"

Again his cheek twitched and Ed cracked a slit into his eyes. The tiring exercise of a miserably endless train ride had created a large cloud in his mind’s eye. Through it, he stared at a woman's familiar face. He accepted it as if it were not out of place and rubbed his eye lightly before continuing to float around freely.

"Are you okay?"

His eyes never opened wide enough for him to take in his surroundings, but he could have sworn the voice sounded exactly like Rose. Through his eyelids he could see the bright lights beating down on his body. He knew where he was without concern for the memory of a dance floor he lay on. He rolled his head more in the direction of the voice, feeling an unforgiving weight keeping him down, "What?"

"Al…"

He tried to open his eyes wider and clear the smog that would not disperse, "What… what about Al?" his arm shot forward, grabbing at the foggy image, his voice rising, "WHAT about Al?!"

"SIR!" screamed the train attendant standing over him, scrambling backwards.

Edward froze, staring back at the female attendant in horror. It took him a moment to dismiss the delirium of the heat and he hurriedly released her shirt collar, "I…" he staggered to his feet, "I apologize for that, I'm… not paying attention. It's hot."

The attendant stepped back from him, "I'll bring you more water," her voice tried not to quiver, "the heat isn't good for everyone."

"Thank you," he said in a distant voice, brushing the soggy hair off his sweaty face.

"Have your pass ready, Sir. We're departing right away."

"Of course," Edward reached into his pocket and fished out his ticket. His eyes returned to the window, to find something, anything, in the sky to calm his shaken thoughts.

* * *

"Wow…." Al's eyes widened, "There are so many people here, so many trains; Central is huge!" his widened, shimmering eyes could have lit up an entire room and, if he wasn't careful, his gaping mouth would take in flies.

"This is only the train station in the city, everything comes through here," Izumi rolled her head around on her neck, letting it crack a few times. Her thoughts were begging for a proper bed so she could have this long day end, "Pick up your bags!"

Alphonse snapped them up, "Are we staying somewhere? Or are we going to look around the city?" the boy’s energy brought forth a slew of questions, "Central's bookstores are full of alchemy books, aren't they? We should see what's new, maybe they can help us! Oh, and Winry gave me a shopping list. Can I see if I can get her stuff here instead of in Rush Valley?"

Izumi's tired eyes rolled, wishing she could share his amusement but too tired to do so, "You certainly don't stay upset for long", she muttered to herself, "I called for a motel room when we missed the train at our transfer station. We have to stay overnight anyways, so there's no rush. The next train to Dublith doesn't leave until the day after tomorrow."

"Yes!" Al bounced with a light fist pump.

Izumi swung a free arm forward, "Use that energy to find us a lift. If all these people take cabs, then we'll have to walk," she had barely finished her sentence before Al was off, ten strides ahead of her.  Izumi’s posture sagged.

' _I wish we didn't have to stay here at all.'_

Lagging under exhausted weight, Izumi followed behind.

' _I don't like the idea of us being here... I don't need to be recognized. We don't need_ that _problem.'_

She began her slow accent up the station stairs, trying not to drag her feet as she moved. Izumi looked up as she reached the top of the stairs. Al had stopped no more than thirty metres ahead, his bags on the ground at his feet. She narrowed her eyes at the scene in front of her, "Isn't that interesting…"

"It's good that you have time off to spend with your daughter!" Al beamed as he brushed a wave of hair out of his face.

"Where did you say you were going again? Dublith?" Klose's father tapped his chin, his military jacket unbuttoned to accommodate the heat, "I think I had a cousin once who lived there…"

Al nodded affirmatively, "We are, but we have to wait a few days until the next train heads down that way. We've found a motel for now."

Klose ran her fingers thru the ends of her hair, "Papa, I don't think they'll have much luck getting a decent ride this time of day. Couldn't we drop them off?" she offered.

Al protested with an emphatic wave of his hands, "No, don't do that. We'll be fine!"

"We'll be fine with what?" Izumi stepped up behind Al, putting a hand on his shoulder, eyeballing the pair in front of them. "Good afternoon."

"Papa, this is Al's mother, Ms. Curtis," Klose gave a skewed smile as she motioned to Izumi.

Al blinked at that and Izumi gave a slight bow of her head, "I hope my boy isn't holding you up Ms. Klose… and… Sergeant Klose…?"

Her father snorted before giving a laugh at the address, "I'm property of my own daughter now? How disgraceful," the sergeant clapped his hands together twice to clear the air, "it isn't an intrusion Alphonse, I'd be delighted to take you and your mother to your lodge. Besides, if it's your first time in Central, you should be shown the some of the highlights of the city, if you have the time to look around? People's first impressions of this massive city are usually quite overwhelming. You shouldn't put an opportunity like this to waste. We should stop for something to eat along the way."

Izumi frowned slightly, rather uneasy with the situation setting in, "I really don't think we should impose on you like this…"

Klose was again analyzing Izumi's movements; her gut feeling telling her to be suspicious, yet entirely unsure as to why, "No really, we insist." Curiosity was getting the better of her and she allowed Izumi to pick up on the lack of honest concern in her voice. Izumi was not given a chance to eye the girl in return before her father again insisted upon being their escort.

Izumi looked downwards to Al before taking her attention to the sergeant, "I suppose it would be an honour to have one of the military's finest show us around."

* * *

Edward repeatedly flipped his pocket watch open and closed - an action he'd had as boredom ritual since he was twelve-years-old. He repeated the action countless times, his mind unable to focus on any one particular thought, again losing track of his surroundings. What had feeling like a full day's worth of boredom in Vienna had actually been merely an hour under their sun. Ed shook his head to wake himself up, paying little attention to the crowds of people passing him by – that was until someone stepped into his sunlight.

"That's a very lovely watch? Who's your craftsman?"

Edward looked up into the face of a bright young woman, probably not more than a few years older than himself, he figured. She tilted her head waiting for a response. Ed snapped the watch shut and responded blankly, "I made the design, but one of my father's associates had it crafted for me."

The presumptuous woman sat down next to him on the rickety station bench, her short brown curls bouncing around her face, "I've never seen that sort of insignia before, but if I were to guess I'd say it looks military of some sorts. Is it a war token? Are you a soldier?"

Edward stared on at her confused to why she'd suddenly engaged him. The woman had a fragrant mystique to her and by how she'd carried herself, even in the short moments Ed had seen her, he could tell she was some sort of busybody.  She was dressed quite fine. Her knee length tan jacket was tied perfectly at the middle and her hat sitting slightly askew to allow her spiral-curls to bounce enthusiastically on just the one side. The tops of her high-heeled boots hid beneath the lengthy deep brown dress that peeked out from beneath her jacket as she crossed one leg over the other. In a mockingly dainty manner, she clasped her hands carefully over her knee and peered into Edwards business with her eyes a little more.

"Well," Ed paused. There was a contrived response he'd created to explain the watch – why he possessed a replica of his State Alchemist watch here – but it seemed lost on him today, "kind of but not really, it's more of a personal keepsake… for an old friend."

The woman's eyes widened, "Oh that's sweet, what a nice thing to do for a friend. Did they die in the war?"

"Huh?" Ed's mouth hung open while he unwound his confused look, unsure about how she mangled his statement into that conclusion.

"I understand how that is," she continued on, "its fine craftsmanship, the edging, the lines. I could tell from a distance it was something exquisitely made. You must have used the finest silver for it. How does it work? Do you wind it? Is it automatic?"

Edward suddenly chilled over at the woman's line of questioning. He clenched his hand tightly over the watch and stuffed it back into his pocket, wiping away a trickle of sweat running along his hairline, "What's your name?"

"Me?" The woman seemed unfazed by Edward's sudden change in behaviour, continuing to smile as if she'd been hoping all along for the topic to come up, "Mathilde. And what might yours be?"

"Edward," He examined the woman over carefully, looking for some clue that would reveal what business she had with him, "do I know you from somewhere?"

Mathilde re-crossed her legs and sat back on the bench they shared, "I'm not certain. Are you from Schässburg? Have you ever been there?"

Ed frowned, not liking the counter-questioning and disliking even more her _one_ choice of cities to ask him about, "I haven't, but I'm heading there," his hand still gripped the watch stuffed in his pocket.

"Are you?"

Her tone was so ridiculous in Edward's ears. She'd sounded like this flamboyant cabaret dancer he'd been forced to converse with while out with acquaintances one night. Her words were forced, she sounded contrived and he could have sworn she was just there to be obnoxious.

"Well then, if you were traveling 'from', instead of traveling 'to', my question would have been more helpful to us," the woman tapped her chin lightly as if she were playing a game, "how about Munich? Have you ever been there?"

"I live in Munich," Ed replied flatly.

Unfazed by Edward's lack of enthusiastic participation in her conversation, the woman continued on, "Oh! Have you ever been to the university there? I've had a number of friends attend. It’s the best education Germany has to offer!"

Edward narrowed his eyes at suspicious nature of her questions, "My father teaches there."

"Does he really?" by mistake, Mathilde allowed her honestly surprised response to come through in her voice, throwing a curve ball into Edwards court – he'd been convinced she'd been simply toying with him from the start, "he must be a great man to be a professor at Munich's university. Goodness, what's his name?"

"Why…?" Ed drawled out, unable to release his eye of suspicion cast over the woman. His hand released the pocket watch and it emerged from his pocket to brush the beads of sweat from his forehead.

"You're quite rude to girls, has anyone ever told you that?" Mathilde falsified anger as she chirped back at him, "it's no wonder you have no traveling companion." She stood up sharply and straightened her jacket, "Why on earth would someone like you head to my home town? I can guarantee the bordello owners will kick you out if you disrespect the service. You aren't _big_ enough to stand up against thos-."

A vein snapped upon Edward's forehead and he shot up like a fire cracker, "Who-are-you-calling-so-short-that-no-one-can-see-ME?"

Mathilde paled.  Her eye twitched slightly as she took a step backward, "Um..."

Edward thrust a finger into her face, his deep, demonic voice booming out, "I've _grown_."

"Tily!" a man's voice called from the distance. It cut Ed off before he could continue, "We're boarding!"

"I'll be right there!" the woman called, stepping back from a fuming Edward. Her playful expression fell away and she looked upon him with the eyes of a woman mature beyond her age, "I hope you find what you're looking for in Schässburg. There have been some problems with rebel groups since we became Rumanians. Keep alert, won't you?" She spun upon her toes, tossing her hair from her face, and pranced away.

Edward watched, mouth half open as she ran off into the crowds of people, "What on earth…" he slowly brought his hand to his forehead with a sigh. The chain from his watch hung from his jacket pocket and clattered on the bench as he sat down again.

* * *

"Wow…" Al exhaled as he gazed down the street.

Kloze folded her arms and her voice burst with delight, "The Open Market Fair began a few days ago. All sorts of little shops, more than usual, are out selling everyone's best products! Food, clothes, sweets and candy, toys and games… and gadgets for that girlfriend you were talking about; you can find them all here! "

Al's eyes widened in a childish horror, "Winry is _not_ my girlfriend."

"Awww," Klose teased as she walked along with Al into the market, "she sounds so sweet though."

"Winry is six mo-years older than me!" he caught himself in his sentence, "it doesn't work!"

"Well fine, she can be a big sister then," Klose's attention suddenly drew away and her eyes darted out to the side, "that is so pretty!" She turned on a dime and slid herself through the pedestrian traffic towards a booth.

The two of them had been set free in the market after they'd had lunch at one of the many sprawling outdoor cafés. Not more than an hour earlier, a few blocks away from the shopping chaos, Klose's father had introduced the group to a patio diner. The children had spent the meal chattering about the amount of people traffic they could see entering and exiting the market lined with streamers and decorative knickknacks. The children had finally persuaded both guardians to relent and allow them to run loose for fifteen minutes before they were to return and go browsing as a group.

"H-hey!" Al pushed past people bumping his small figure aside while he tried to reach Klose. The dirt path was soft and muddy beneath everyone’s feet – an dirty reminder of the rain the night before. Al slid awkwardly, his feet wanting to proceed in alternate directions. A man's firm hand came upon his shoulder and pushed him aside and Al landed hard, with his hands and knees embedding into the mud. Regaining his composure as quickly as he could, Al shot a glare up to a six-foot tall man who simply gave an empty, uncaring stare down at him. The towering figure’s square jaw and chin were held high and tight while the pair exchanged looks over the man's high cheekbone. The sun-tanned face turned away from Al, his two right earrings refracting the sunlight as he left.

Al muttered to himself as he stumbled out of the way of the traffic which never ceased to be continually in motion. Wiping the mud from his hands onto his jeans, Al staggered over to Klose who promptly held up her new possession wrapped in a plain paper bag.

"The feathers won me over!"

"…Feathers?" Al's face fell slightly and he tipped his head.

"It's a pen! It looks like a dip pen, but it can store the ink in its body too. Here watch," grabbing Al by the wrist, Klose pulled him to the side of the booth to escape the traffic and put on a demonstration. Brushing the booth's cloth-overhang aside, she placed the paper bag down and quickly pulled out a polished, black, fat pen stem with a shining new nib that she slipped into the tip of the stem. A pair of purple feathers, one darker than the other, decorated the end of the pen.  Klose produced an ink jar put the black ink on the edge of the table, "See you dip it in the ink jar like so and just wait a few seconds. It'll suck it right up."

When Alphonse didn't respond in any way, Klose looked up confused. Al had been bubbling with words since they'd entered, but something had his attention and Al stared right past her.  His gaze went deep behind the stone-building backdrop of the sales booths, and he was obviously no longer listening to what she had to say.

"Al?"

"Huh?" he blinked back into reality, "sorry."

"Okay," she grabbed Al's right hand and held his palm open between them, "then you simply take the pen and you can draw fluid circles over and over. Not as scratchy as a regular dip pen."

In the palm of his hand she began to run the pen. Al watched for a moment, though he wasn't paying attention – his mind was distracted. He looked away from her art, yet again his attention carried behind the booths and vanished into the alleyway between two buildings. Something was moving around down there, Al was certain. He thought perhaps it was a cat, but it seemed a little too big.

"Al?"

"Huh?" he again shot his attention back to Klose.

Klose frowned at him, "What are you looking at?"  She gave him his hand back and turned over her shoulder to look down the alley as well. She narrowed her eyes in an attempt to define the dark, grey objects that lay in the shadows, "What? I see garbage cans."

Al stepped further away from the crowds and deeper into the backdrop, picking up Klose's bottle of ink from the table as he moved, "I thought I could see something moving."

Klose placed her hands upon her hips, "Cats and dogs like old garbage cans. They're too scared to come out with all these people. I don't see anything moving though, maybe you're just tired?"

"No really…" Al moved forward towards the alley, "I saw something odd move, I'm sure." He stopped at the alley's entrance, placing his right hand upon the aging wall.

"Cats and dogs, Al," Klose offered again.

Al shook his head, "This was too big."

"Coyotes don't come this far into the city," Klose stopped in mid-motion – Al’s shadow finally moved for her. Whatever it had been, it had darted down deeper, towards the end of the alley and around the corner of the building, becoming lost in darkness. Klose stood frozen as a chill ran down her back. Al stepped back, bumping into her. The two exchanged nervous glances before Klose's resolve set back in.

"I've never been afraid of ghosts," she placed a hand on Al's shoulder.

The two took a deep breath and stepped into the alley.

Al stayed half a stride ahead of her, clenching his left hand around the bottle of ink as they walked quietly into the darkness, his right hand trailing along the wall as if to make sure he could keep his sense of direction. He could hear the faint echo of their soggy footsteps as they stepped into the thin, low layer of mist that lived above the ground; another remnant from the rain in the evening prior. Al gingerly stepped around a line of trashcans and garbage bags at the wall and looked back to see how Klose was dealing.

Klose's attention was focused dead ahead, though a hints of worry was smeared across her face as she chewed on her lower lip, "Well, come on," she urged hesitantly, "or do we turn back?"

Al looked past her to the bustling of people beyond the dealer's stand they'd tucked in behind. Through the crowds, he caught the eye of an elder female peddler who operated the stand across the pathway. Alphonse suddenly realized they were somewhere they should not be - the woman who stared right at them firmly adjusted her grey bun upon her head, snatched up the whiskbroom that lay upon the tabletop and slapped it into her hand. Al's eyes widened with concern as the woman approached. He quickly wondered just how much trouble he'd get into with Izumi if this elder lady deemed them as troublemakers. When they'd been told to make the most of their 15 minutes, he very much doubted the pair of adults had meant anything like this.

"Um, Klose…"

She turned her gaze to follow Al's. Klose had barely been given enough time to recognize the woman as a peddler before the elder lady suddenly jerked violently to the side without a hand touching her. Never getting close enough for the pair to have ever heard her voice, the elder woman toppled to the ground.

Both children's eyes shot wide, neither given enough time to comprehend what had just happened to this woman. With that as the only warning, the children found themselves with their hands flying over their heads as they ducked away from the rapid succession of gunfire echoing off the walls. Without a word to each other, or a scream, they turned and ran down into the darkness of the alleyway.

The children's feet pounding thru the murky layers on the alley floor was heard by no one. Frightened tears clouded their vision as they both slipped to their knees in the wet alley sludge, barely able to keep standing having tried to take the sharp turn too quickly at the end of the alleyway. Gripping the mud between their fingers, they scrambled on hands and knees through the sludge until the two were able to re-balance on their feet. Klose slapped her soiled hands over her ears, trying to drown out the sound of the gunfire – the tightly enclosed stone walls amplified the distant sound. Although the sounds of people's screams echoed above all else, the pair only heard the encroaching gunfire. Al remained a stride ahead of Klose and he looked up to another alleyway intersection. Suddenly even more frightened than before, Al skid to a stop, his feet sliding out from underneath him as if he'd just stopped upon a sheet of ice. Klose's right leg caught on his shoulder and she tumbled down to the ground next to him. They felt no pain from their fall and they shot a wide-eyed gaze at each other before staring ahead at the intersection. Klose's hands trembled as she reached back for her ears again, the maddening gunfire and screams never ceasing to exist. Whatever courage they'd entered with lay shattered and soiled in the mud around them.

Shakily, Al began to rise to his feet again, but could not get up off his knees. Klose had begun to curl up – her forehead pressed against the soggy ground. Al reached out and grabbed her upper arm, trying to pull her upright. Her trembling began to transfer to his body and again he looked down the alley.

The world around them changed suddenly and without warning. The next thing either of them realized was the stench they'd suddenly found their bodies lying in. Blown from their position, skimming at great speeds along the ground, they had become projectiles thrown into the garbage bags lining a wall, forcefully removed from their positions by an explosion within the building at their right. The trash and waste had cushioned them from a direct impact with the cement wall.

Al shifted within the debris, finding he could move in the mess well enough. Threads of sunlight filtered in around them. He felt Klose move beneath him and whispered to her, asking how she was only to receive a faint acknowledgement. Trying unsuccessfully to move again, Al sank deeper into the waste and mix of filthy debris. He could feel his right side burning in pain from whatever the explosion had hit him with. Putting his right hand to the side of his head in search of blood, Al examined the findings in his palm through the filtered sunlight and promptly froze. His concentration came into unexpected focus. The jar of ink was no longer in his left hand. As carefully as he could, he cleared his palms of the spatters of blood, sludge and mess and turned to face the wall they'd been thrown up against.

"Klose," he spoke with an affirmative tone.

She tried her best to look up at him, catching only half of the stern expression on his face, "Al?"

He slammed his right palm against the cement wall. Klose shrieked from the surprising light that blinded her and became lost within the noise that engulfed the pair. She tried to curl away. Moments later, Klose felt Al's hand grab her under her arms and pull her forwards, through a hole in the wall. Once clear of the mess, both collapsed upon the cleaner ground. Klose lay on her back for a moment, gasping for air, looking up at the arched hole that had appeared in the wall as parts of concrete and stone wall fell down into the gap where the two once lay. The pair crawled further into the black room of the building, darkened from lack of power.

"I'm okay," Klose spoke to herself as she pulled up to her knees. Both sat in silence of each other's company. Although the noise raged on outside, they could clearly hear each other's staggered breathing that they attempted to bring under control.

"Klose?" Alphonse finally aired out.

She looked over at him as Al held up his right palm, "Why did you draw this?" his question had a hint of all his circulating emotions, the most prominent being absolute confusion.

Getting to her feet slowly Klose looked down at Al, "I saw your brother draw that once, didn't I?"

Al's expression tightened; he looked up at her in the darkness, unsure about the answer he should give. The fear of all that was going on around him seemed to make the topic somewhat easier to want to explain, given the circumstance.

"I only saw it briefly but I never forgot what it looked like. I saw it again in some books I browsed through the first time I came to Central."

Al took his hand back and examined the transmutation circle she had drawn in his palm, "It's one of the most basic of all circles," looking back up at her, Klose grabbed Al by his wrist and helped him back to his feet.

"Well, then I'm glad you haven't forgotten how to use it," her grin was the brightest thing in the room, though it only shone for a moment.

Al stared at her with an expression hinting of nervousness, unsure if he should explain further. But, there was the more pressing issue of what was going on: where they were and how they would get out.

Klose shook her head, dismissing the any further conversation about what she’d drawn. The personal questions could wait. She turned around in the room, trying not to bump into anything as she looked around for a door, "We need to get out of here."

* * *

 **To Be Continued…**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time I started this fic, no official way of spelling Resembool (in English) had been established – one of the spellings that commonly came up was Rizembool and I went with that. That’s the spelling I’ll use for the story.
> 
> The official spelling of Klose is "Close" but I'll use the miss-spelt "Klose" translation. It's easier to recognize as a name – it just didn't read well with the proper spelling.
> 
> Though its not in this chapter, Ed and Al will refer to Izumi as “Sensei” in verbal context only. I know Japanese words in English stories isn’t exactly the thing to do, but I feel it’s a word that can pass since certain martial arts disciplines use the title outside of Japan (and I called my Japanese teacher “Sensei” for years). I never became comfortable hearing Izumi addressed as “teacher” or “master”… it feels very awkward. Everything else is anglicised.
> 
> More soon!
> 
> (Edited: 2004-10-12, 2006-02-04, 2010-05-30, & 2012-01-18)


	2. A Stranger's Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward doesn't find exactly what he's looking for in Schässburg and the chaos in Central puts Klose and Alphonse in the hospital, encountering numberous faces Al doesn't realize he should know.

_There was some point in time in my life when I had the distinction of being the ‘Dog of the Military’ who sided with the people. I visited cities like this when I was younger. It's almost as if this world refuses to let those memories fade away from me._

 _To remind me..._

 _  
  
_

Ed sat on his suitcase simply staring out into the morning sun. His train had been delayed in the evening due more unexplained 'track problems', which his train very nearly blew right through. The roadside he waited on now veered down into the Tarnava valley of lush forests, and it reminded Ed of the valley he played in as a child. While he sat there, day-dreaming about doing _anything_ else other than waiting, he would easily find his 7-year-old self back in that valley. Edward watched silently as the sun crept up from beyond the forested hills that surrounded the city. Slowly, the weak sunlight breathed the resemblance of colour into the tops of the old buildings lining the roadways. The town had to wake up at some point in time, he figured, but it seemed the 5am hour was still a proper time for the general inhabitants to remain out of sight and tucked away in bed.

Which helped Edward very little – he was lost.

Having been told the location of an inn as his train rolled in at half past one in the morning, Ed had thought he’d followed the provided directions. Wandering in the streets during the dead of night, he passed ancient house after ancient house, and they all seemed to look the same. He walked on, his pocket watch egging on time's progression. At some point he realized that this residential neighbourhood did not have any place for him to stay, and at this time of night, there was no one for him to intrude upon. Who knocks on someone's door in the middle of the night?

So, Ed had propped himself up against his suitcase at the corner of a house, drifting in and out of a light sleep for the nighttime hours that remained – an experience which felt more like hallucinations than rest. His left hip was sore and his right shoulder ached as he slouched over for as long as he could, but the sun's rise interfered with his impaired visions. Finally, when it was light enough, Ed picked himself up and staggered down the street in the washed out orange hue of the early morning. Occasionally – bitterly – he wondered when it was he'd last had a decent night's sleep last. He came to a stop atop an embankment within the hilltop town and it showed him a scope of the town he was going to have to make progress through. At that point, Ed concluded more progress could be made by sitting tight and waiting for the city to wake. As he waited, hoping to hear the soothing sound of morning birds or country breeze, all Edward heard was nothing more than the pounding of the headache between his ears and the churning of his empty stomach.

"Young man, are you alright?" was something he did not hear at first – it wasn't loud enough.

"Boy?"

A hand landed upon his shoulder cautiously.

Edward startled violently; he jerked his head in the direction of his questioner, trying to stand up. His vision was too slow to catch up with his movements and his balance easily gave out on him. Landing in a heap upon the ground, Ed groaned in displeasure.

"My Lord," along with the sound of an elder voice, a hand reached out and grabbed Ed under his right arm. The figure paused a moment but finally took a firm hold of Edward's arm, straining to help him back to his feet, "I'd have sworn you were drunk, yet you smell like a musty old closet."

"I wasn't drinking," Edward pulled himself away from the gentleman, taking control of his own balance, figuring the old man's voice actually meant 'sweaty old train car'. His attention came into focus on the man before him: an elder gentleman with aging hair that was a prominent silver colour, as opposed to dull grey. He stood strong and steadfast before Ed, his black overcoat hanging loosely around his rounded figure.

The elder man adjusted his glasses as he leaned down to pick up his black leather bag resting next to Ed, "you're an unhealthy shade of white, child. You should come with me."

Ed's tired mind tried to understand how this man had appeared out of thin air. Yet, as he looked around, he suddenly began to realize that at some point in time life had begun to emerge from the sleeping village. The next thing Ed seemed to know was that he was toddling down the cobblestone roadway through the town – like minutes had vanished from his life. The elder man, with no fear of giving orders, led the way for him.

Though he should have been grateful, Ed's cranky voice showed up, "So, who the hell are you and where are we going?"

"I'm the chief director of the medical centre you're accompanying me to," the man replied matter-of-factly.

Edward stopped in his tracks, "No thanks, I don't need to go to a hospital," and for that moment of realization, he felt quite awake.

The elder man looked back at him with the stern eyes of a father, "I know you don't live in this town, because I know everyone from the eastern hills to western rise. You muttered something while you were daydreaming about travelling. When was the last time you ate a full meal? You can't remember can you?"

Edward searched his mind, trying to remember if he could recall what he'd muttered about.

The elder man dropped his shoulder bag to the ground, creating a faint cloud of dust. He stepped up to the confused Elric and slapped Ed’s cheek with the back of his hand, "Your lips are dried out, your eyes have sunken in; you're dehydrated! You can't keep your balance and your eyes are unable to keep focus. You haven't had any decent sleep in far too long. I could grab you by the chin, give your head a shake and you'd drop like a fly. You haven't taken care of yourself properly on your journey, young man," turning away from Ed's dumbfounded expression, the medical director picked up his bag and glanced over his shoulder, "Of all of the injuries, diseases, and problems that have wandered through this town in recent years, yours will be something I can enjoy remedying for the sheer simplicity of it. Come along."

* * *

Alphonse cautiously pushed open the door from the room he and Klose found themselves in. Peering slowly out into the hallway he found it was shrouded in a dirty fog.

"Al," Klose's whisper interrupted the silence, "… I think its smoke."

Both of them looked back into the room as smoke began leaking in from the crevice they had crawled out of. Klose put her hand to the open wounds on her right cheek, but quickly pulled her touch away; her fingertips stung the sore and scratched up flesh that had taken the impact of the earlier explosion. She wiped the bloody residue in her hand off on her hip.

Al reached back and grabbed Klose by the wrist, giving her a tug as they both entered the hallway. Ceiling beams had been snapped out of their fixtures and dumped in the hallway, hindering the pair wading through the broken glass and heavy debris. They made their way blindly through the darkened building, unsure which door would lead to the door that could free them from the dark. No matter how hard Klose kicked, nor how hard Al could throw his body, there were simply too many doors that refused to be opened; only two of them budged. Those doors that did open were simply empty offices or supply rooms within the inner portion of the building – they did not lead to an exit for the complex.  The two continued to walk, growing more concerned as they felt the choking heat from the smoke as it slowly thickened. They had no idea where it was coming in from, though they figured it was probably from all around.

Al finally stopped behind Klose. He knelt down and placed his hands on the cool cement floor – wishing it were something he could scoop up and splash over his body. His right cheek had begun to sting from the earlier explosion, he knew his shoulder was bleeding from a gash, but he did not want to look at it. Al could feel the stinging sensation of his right leg match his cheek. He was exhausted in a way he'd never felt before, but adrenaline kept the boy running at an accelerated pace.  Yet, no matter how deep a breath Al took, it did not relieve the burning he felt in his chest, nor the faint stars that would come and go in his eyes.

"I don't feel good…" he finally murmured, putting his forehead down on the cool floor, causing Klose to stop several feet ahead of him.

"AL! Get up," she demanded going back for him, "you can't stop." Grabbing him under his arms, Klose helped pull him to his feet. They took a moment together, slowly trying to take away the feelings of shortness of breath subside. Klose glanced over to Al, watching him as he examined the palm of his hand. The heat and moist alley had dampened his hand as they'd walked and pulled on doors; the circle that was once in his palm was smudged up so badly he could not use it again.

"Let's go."

The two moved again; they had to keep moving and get out and they continued to manage their way around debris in the hallway. They did not realize until it began to sting that the smoke was irritating their eyes and impeding their vision. Klose felt the sweat run down her neck as Al tried to brush the heat in his hair away.

The obstacle course of broken material made the hallway longer than it actually was and they had finally reached its end, but whatever door they needed to escape from did not exist in the lingering darkness that suffocated them. The pair stood side by side, bodies melting away as they felt their own weights pull down on their shoulders. Looking up through heavy eyes at the unbroken, quarter window near the ceiling, nothing needed to be said – Al kicked off his shoes and he stepped up under the window. Klose picked up one of his runners and turned back to him. Al squatted slightly and cupped his hands together to help lift her up towards the window. Stepping into his handhold and with her chest and hands pressed against the wall to keep steady, Klose soon found herself awkwardly standing on Al’s shoulders.  She gripped the left side of the window frame with one hand as Al struggled to remain balanced below her – his hands wrapped around her ankles while they crushed down on his exhausted shoulders. With all the might she had remaining, Klose slammed the heel of the shoe into the window again, and again, and again… repeatedly… hearing nothing more than a rubber thud. Her balancing hand gripped the frame so hard it sliced into her fingers – she did not let go or relent, continuing to slam the heel of the shoe into the window.

"OPEN!"

Al shook beneath her, struggling to maintain the dual body weight. He knew his trembling was not helping her stay steady in front of the window, but it had become something he could not control. The oxygen deprived muscles trembled violently in the smoke and Al tried to remain focused on staying balanced. When he gave a moment's thought about breathing, he was reminded of the pain burning in his chest; so strained he almost couldn’t breathe.

"Klose!" Al screamed out in frustration.

She hurled the shoe at the window with such force flew from her hand; its rubber sole bouncing off the pane into the dark cloak of the hallway smoke. Momentarily staring off into the darkness, Klose clenched her teeth on her lip trying not to cry – her hands griping either end of the window frame. She turned her attention back to the window and suddenly could no longer see out. Al called to her again, his voice choking out half way through. Holding onto the window frame as if she thought she could tear it out of the wall, Klose screamed back at him in tears; slamming her forehead into the glass.

Al felt her weight collapse down upon him and his body gave out under the pressure. The two mangled bodies crashed into a heap as glass shards sprinkled down around them. Klose withered up next to Al, pawing at her forehead as she stumbled upon her knees and elbows trying to make the pain stop, unable to properly acknowledge how much it hurt to move her right arm. On his back, Al stared up at the oxygen hole that sucked out the endless smoke. He grit his teeth and reached out to his side, his hand firmly grasping a large shard of broken glass. Slowly getting to his hands and knees, Al slammed the shard into the wall. Holding the jagged piece of glass with both hands, he carved the basic circle he knew so well. His body so wrapped up in problems of a larger scale, he did not feel the glass cut into his hands each time he began a new line. Finally shutting his eyes to stop the burning smoke, Al placed his hands firmly upon the circle and forged another hole into the wall of the building.

He did not step out of the inviting escape route immediately, Al turned back into the room reaching out for Klose. Having no energy to form words and barely able to maintain balance on his hands and knees, Al grabbed the back of Klose's dress collar and tried to pull her to their exit. Klose found something left of her own strength and, by Al's direction, the two floundered their way into the opening. Their strength was barely gave enough to crawl out of the building and their bodies collapsed upon the welcoming ground.

Klose quickly learnt that the roof of the several-storied building towering over them was burning. Lying on her back, she could see the distinctly angry orange colours through her clouded vision. But the fresh air that entered her body negated the danger - this moment was victory - and she couldn't will herself to move any farther, neither of them could. The exhausted girl couldn't convince herself that she and Al would die when the flames finally came crash down around her. She thought of calling out for Al, but her voice had abandoned her. Slowly, Klose discovered that her eyelids had become too heavy to keep open.

As she drifted out, a cold pair of fingers pressured a tender part of her neck for a moment before her entire body was carefully lifted off the ground.

* * *

"You are going to make yourself sick."

"I have an iron stomach!"

The doctor shook his head, "That's your fifth bowl of stew tonight. I hope it functions as well as your arm and leg do."

Ed paused in the middle of his food-shoveling to think about the comment, "Naw, I'm good."

"If you insist," bemused, the doctor shook his head and sat back down at his desk, desperately wishing he could find enough interest to get through his paperwork. Though he leafed through the documents, his distracted mind only caught a few words per written sentence. The old man sighed and leaned back in his chair, "Your name is bothering me."

Edward put down his empty bowl and looked at back at the man, "A danno wae eh shood," forgetting any manners, Ed spoke as he chewed down on the last heaping mouthful.

The elder man shook his head and turned in his chair to face Edward, "I'm not sure what it is." He tapped the end of his pen on his desk with a frown, "You're keeping me from concentrating on my work young man!"

Edward adjusted himself in his seat at the adjacent table in the clean white office, "Sorry," he grinned sheepishly as he swallowed his final bites, "you did invite me here, though."

His memory was fuzzy, so the doctor had filled Ed in earlier about how he'd passed out on the nursing staff. The old man had been right; Ed hadn't eaten proper meals beyond whatever bits were sold at the stations and provided on the trains. Nor had he had a decent night’s sleep for several days thanks in most part to the uncomfortable station benches, rough train tracks, and the sweltering heat… which was also a factor in his night-long delirium and dehydration. The doctor had awakened Ed before the sun fell again, figuring correctly that this blonde stranger didn't want, nor need, his internal clock to be messed up like that.

"Thanks for your hospitality though, but I should think about getting going," he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "If I'm out of your way, you might get some work done."

The doctor laughed at that, "I highly doubt I could do such a thing right now. I mean my God, look at you. That arm and your leg! Who on earth thought up a technology like that? The principal behind it all is astonishing – to combine mechanical technology with limb replacement and then integrate that with the nervous system so it can function? I've never even heard of such a thing being attempted," the doctor's words flew about, "who out there knows enough about man's nervous system to dream this up? I can't believe you can even lift that arm to shoulder's height."

Ed laughed at that comment lightly, "Yeah, well, it's got a long way to go before its any good. I can't really move my fingers."

The old man shook his head at the comment, rolling his eyes in a bewildered state, "I simply cannot believe you view this as substandard."

"Well, I've had…" Ed stopped himself, "I guess, my father and I have a vision that's greater than this burden I take around with me."

The doctor rested his elbow upon the desk, a sudden thought striking him, "And your father is?"

"Hohenheim."

Snapping his fingers the doctor tossed his pen to his desk in amusement, "Ah-hah. That's why your name is familiar. Professor Hohenheim-Elric. I should have remembered that. Such a prominent name from the Health and Sciences Division out of the University of Munich I'm ashamed to admit I'd forgotten it."

Suddenly puzzled, Edward's eyes examined the man. His father had never mentioned having any connections in Rumania or Transylvania, "Why would you know my father's name all the way out here?"

"Oh my daughter-in-law thought very highly of him when she visited the University of Munich with my son last year. She heard one of his lectures and has been somewhat intrigued by his philosophies ever since; in a casual sense anyways." The doctor laughed at the thought, "She thought about writing him once, but my son said that when they return to Munich he'll see who he could talk to so she could attend another lecture."

Ed laughed a bit, "I'm sure I can arrange for her to sit in on one of his lectures without a hassle," his characteristic grin plastered across his face, "In return for the hospitality, I don't see it as a problem."

The doctor grinned back to Ed, nodding his head, "Sounds like a fair trade. Thank you so much, I hope it's not an imposition."

"It's not…" Edward's voice responded slowly before shaking off the words, "what's her name?"

"Tilly Hummel."

Ed felt slightly relieved, he’d finally found out the man's surname. He'd spent a while chatting with the elder doctor and while mention of Edward's own name came up, he had never been given an opportunity to ask the doctor for his name in return. Every staff member they met addressed the doctor with 'Professor' as if it were some title like 'King', where no surname was required.

"Well, thank you Professor Hummel, you've saved me from getting trampled on in the streets. But I have to see if I can find the people I came here for before the sun sets again," Edward rose from his seat.

"Make sure you don't let the heat get to you again," the doctor handed Edward his coat that hung on the rack, "and you're mistaken."

"About?" Ed blinked.

The professor laughed at the thought, realizing he'd caught Edward in an innocently ignorant moment, "Tilly still uses her madden name. My name isn't Hummel."

"… Oh," Ed suddenly grinned like a sheepish fool, clenching his teeth in embarrassment, "I misunderstood. I should have asked."

"That's fine," the man passed Edward his briefcase, "I didn't introduce myself properly. The name is Oberth."

Edward's face fell sharply, "… Yeah, _pardon_?"

* * *

"Oh, careful," a pair of hands came over Al's cheeks as a violent cough woke him. Through a sensational fog he could feel a moist hand cloth touch his face. It was a faint comfort in the horrible feeling of overwhelming exhaustion he'd been fading in and out of.

"You should have something more to drink," the voice filtered into Al's slowly waking mind, "your fever went down, but your cough is persistent," from the corner of his mind's eye he caught water pouring into a glass, "come on, sit up a bit more."

It was a mothering tone of voice that any child would instinctively respond to – un-abrasive, inviting, and warm. Shifting awkwardly in his bed, Al did as he was told.

"There we go," his caretaker said, sitting down on the bed next to him. She rested the cold tip of the glass against his dried out lips. Trembling, Al's bandaged hands reached up and gripped the glass, the woman's hand continued to steady the glass at its base while he drank it down to the last drop. He could hear her laugh lightly to herself.

"You're a bit more awake this time," her light, whimsical laugh felt as warm as the sunlight that filtered in from around the curtains, "much better than before. You started to cough it up last time," she stood up, taking the glass from Al and setting it back down on the table. Glancing back towards his bed, she addressed him quietly again.

"Your name is Alphonse Elric, correct?"

He nodded slowly in response to her, still trying to gain his bearings. As the words of the moment began to untangle in his mind Al suddenly became confused and the boy’s disoriented gaze scanned the lady who was before him. The woman looked back at him with hints of hesitation in her eyes, yet she stood prim and proper in a light peach dress shirt and faded jeans. Her smile for him soothed away the moment of concern.

"Your friend told one of the doctors what your name was," she brushed a short strand of dark brown hair from her face.

Slowly responding to valuable information, Al placed pieces of their short conversation together. Finally pushing his white sheets aside, Al tried to get out of the bed, "Is Klose all right? She got out all right, didn't she? I don't remember when we got away… it just…"

Al's voice trailed off into the troubled expression of the woman who was now stopping him from getting up, and then the boy’s body quickly reminding him he was still exhausted and tired. The sudden urge to crawl back under the covers hit Al, but the mystifying urge to see through the woman's gaze kept him frozen in place atop the bed. Kneeling at the side of the bed, the woman met Al at eye level. The investigative blue eyes she looked at him with absorbed everything about him for just that moment – as if she had attempted to sponge up his entire existence. Those eyes inspected every aspect of his uncombed hair, scab-speckled cheek, baby soft skin and striking grey eyes. She reached out and cupped his cheek in her right hand – she could feel the warmth transfer into her hand as she pulled out a smile.

"You have lovely eyes," was all that was quietly said.

Al could feel his cheeks flush but did not seem to have the courage to say anything to her in response. He felt cautious about speaking, wondering why he thought she might cry.

The woman sharply pushed herself back to her feet. Though her body language was swift and precise, her tone remained soft, "Klose is fine; she's sleeping. You should rest more yourself. If you talk too much your throat will hurt," and she turned abruptly to exit the room.

Al brought his own hand up to touch his cheek. He stared with a child's wide eye ahead at the door that swung shut behind her. Slowly replaying the last few minutes in his mind, he wondered if he'd missed something.

On the other side of the closed door, beyond where Al could either hear or see, was the figure of the woman, leaning up against the backside of Al's closed door. She covered her face with her hands and sharply took a deep breath. She held it to a count of five and slowly exhaled hoping it would clear her mind.

"Ma'am?"

Her arms dropped instantly to her side and she shot her line of sight down the hall, "What?" the moment to collect herself had been interrupted.

The unintentionally intrusive young man hesitated, but his warming look of concern seemed to ease the moment, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she pushed herself away from the door, "I'm fine." After straightened her shirt, she brushed the fallen hair from her face, "Sergeant, can you relay a message for me please?"

He blinked, "Of course…"

"Can you tell the lieutenant colonel that he needs to place some phone calls? Someone should head into the city and try to find Ms. Curtis. We should have them moved from here as soon as possible, for security reasons."

The young blonde man blinked, "Shouldn't that be something you relay to him?"

"You can do it; you're a big boy aren't you? Besides, that's an order," folding her arms with a huff she turned on her heels, "I'm going for a walk."

"You don't want to go for a walk with me instead?" the sergeant dared to ask with a sly undertone.

Slowly turning a deadpan stare back at him, an annoyed response emerged, "No. Sergeant, go…"

"If you're going off to find the meaning of life, it's good to have someone to discuss it with you," He gave her an oversized loyal-puppy grin.

"Wh-what?"

"I was just saying. You look like you're going to go off and discover the meaning of life…"

"Sergeant Broche… if you DON'T…"

"I'm LEAVING, okay?" He turned away from her playfully, wandering away down the hall, all the while waving a hand back at her, "happy?"

"Oh… my god," she shoved her hands in her pockets and spun on her heels. Before she could take two steps a young nurse stepped out from one of the rooms and into her path.

"Miss. Ross?"

 _'I really want to go for this walk…'_ she glanced up to the woman, "Yes?"

"There's a telephone call for you."

 _'I should have known I wouldn't get to go on this walk, dammit.'_ Giving into the inevitable, the lieutenant followed the nurse, "Alright, thank you."

* * *

"When did they leave?" the professor looked on in surprise, "I had on my calendar that they were leaving next Thursday."

"No sir, I'm sorry, they departed last night."

The professor frowned a bit, "I'm getting too old, I'm writing dates down wrong," he glanced down at Edward and raised a concerned eyebrow.

Ed sat on the wooden stairs that lead to the front doors of the younger Oberth's home. His left elbow upon his knee, chin in the palm of his hand, the right arm propped up on the good leg and a scowl of frustration scribbled across his face. He glared back out into the setting sun as it submitted to the night. Edward cursed at the flaming ball in the sky and he was certain it merely laughed at him in return.

Herman Oberth, the man he'd set out to find, struggled through days and nights to get to, was not here. To make matters worse, the man had gone to Munich, where Ed had started out many days ago. Turning his foul expression back towards the doctor and the housemaid, he grumbled, "So when does the train depart for Vienna?"

The middle-aged woman employed by the Oberth family as their maid, dressed in a very long and formal looking dress with a spotless white apron covering it, gave a displeased look back at him as she responded, "6am, every morning."

The professor grabbed Edward by the shoulder and coaxed him back to his feet, "There's nothing you can do about it, don't spread you mood around to other people. My son use to lash out when he'd get frustrated, I use to slap him upside the head if he got out of line. Don't you give me cause to discipline you."

Edward gave the man an unimpressed glare as he rolled his shoulder away, brushing his jacket off as he did so, "Sir, I don't need to be 'disciplined'.  I’m not a kid, thank you."

"In this town, we know who the parents are, we know whose children are whose. It's a parent's job to keep children in line, to watch over them and guide them. No matter how old you are, you are still someone's child. As long as there's someone out there old enough to be your parent figure, he or she can take the initiative to make sure someone's inheritance stays in line," the old man lectured, "Don't you think for a moment because you don't belong to this town you can show disrespect to your elders, nor will we will treat you any differently from our own if you do," the stern father gripped Edward's arm and hauled him inside, "I think it's a good time for tea."

A speechless Edward, adorned with a scolded child's expression, stumbled inside behind the doctor.

The housemaid, entertained by the fearless elder, smiled to herself and she shut the door behind the pair. She followed them into the dining room, where Ed and the professor had sat down at the tapestry covered wooden table. The room was quite quaint, obvious that a feminine touch had handled the setup. The room was white from the ceiling to the baseboards that lined the pale-brown hardwood floor. The walls, the cupboards, the dishes, the tea towels were all freshly polished and washed. Occasionally, a tiny flower decoration was etched into certain corners of the chairs and cupboard doors; each painted a different pastel colour. The sheer white curtains hung over the 4-pane window that allowed the fading evening light to enter the room. A faint smell of bleach lingered in the air.

Though very striking and beautifully kept, Edward felt like he was back in the hospital again.

"What type business did you want with my son, anyways?"

"Oh," Ed blinked to attention and looked across the table to the professor, "I've been following the works of a few scientists; Konstantin Tsiolkovsky, Robert Goddard, and your son's as well."

The old man relaxed in his chair as he flicked a match to light up his pipe, "Ah, _that_ ," he inhaled slowly, "I'd thought as much; I mean with your arm and leg, only another scientist would seek out my son."

Ed sat properly in his chair, still feeling like a scolded puppy, "I'd read his works, even his early works, I was impressed that a thirteen year old could come up with such complicated gravimetric computations for flight in space. Since I began reading up on space flight, I've found his writings to be the most reliable source of information. I wanted to see if he'd be willing to discuss ideas and calculations."

The professor coughed a bit from his polished wooden pipe, "I'm sure he'd be delighted. He gets too much harsh criticism from his peers; I don't think he gets much praise beyond Tilly and Valerie. Most people in the scientific communities treat him like an outcast."

Edward did not continue on the conversation immediately, he sat for a moment trying to decode the faint bitter tone of voice the man's voice had. Unsure if the attitude was directed towards his own son for his line of work, or for the peers who looked down upon him, Ed raised an eyebrow cautiously, "You disapprove of what he does?"

Tapping his pipe into an ashtray he shook his head, "I'm a selfish old man, wanting my son to follow in my footsteps. He went out of his way to please me, he graduated from the University of Munich and became a doctor just like his old man, but I knew his first love was not medical science. It was mechanical science."

Ed paused a moment before finally breaking formation and resting his elbows on the table, "I think the most successful engineers have doctors for parents."

"Perhaps, but Val told me one day that perhaps the boy is living out my father's dream and I use to think that old man was a fool for it," leaning back in his seat the professor sighed, "but, I'll let him do as he wishes, I'm sure he'll be successful in whatever he does," the elder Oberth shoved the pipe back into his mouth.

Too curious not to ask, Ed continued the conversation as the housemaid presented glasses of steaming hot chamomile tea to their table, "Your father's dream?"

"My father's dream," the Professor placed his pipe aside; "the old man embarrassed the whole family by declaring that someday man would stand on that rising moon."

Again a musing thought gave Ed cause to smile, "It seems strong grandparents give grandchildren a variety of aspirations."

The old man rolled his eyes and shot a dismissing glance outside, "I was a child when that happened, but all of Hermannstadt has laughed about it ever since. Now, look at what that old man has gone and done, inspired kids like Hermann and you."

Ed laughed with a slight bit of nerves at that comment, "It's something like that I guess." He lifted the cup of tea to his lips and took a sip of the warm, age-old beverage. Slowly, lowering the cup to its dish, the distant gaze in his eyes reflected back at him as the drink settled. How come no one, from the heart of London to the middle of Transylvania, made tea that had any flavour?

* * *

In a low voice, a woman asked her companion, "Are you sure you don't want to sit down?"

"I'm fine," the man replied as he adjusted himself at the corner of the wall, "I can wait."

The lumbering Alex Louis Armstrong glanced over his shoulder as if to hush the two whisperers. Not that he had the power to do so, since he was considerably out ranked by one of them. The massive officer turned back to Klose who continued to look away and out the window.

"Miss. Klose, would you please-"

"I'm not talking to you!" she snapped her head back at the daunting man. After all she had been through in the last twenty-four hours, his raging muscles and impossible figure did not strike any sort of submissive fear into her heart, "you separated us, you won't tell me how he is, you won't let me go see him, you won't let me see my father, and you won't let me call my father. Does anyone even know where I am? Does he think I'm dead?!" she paused to take a deep breath, "You won't let me leave my room, you call the military in and you sit here interrogating me as if I've done something wrong! Why don't you ASK HIM yourself?!" Klose stuck her nose in the air and went back to looking out the window.

Jean Havoc rolled his chewed cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other, glancing a 'what do we do?' look over to his superiors in the corner only to receive an annoyed eye twitch in response.

Armstrong tried again in a deep, pleading voice, "Klose, we simply-"

"Forget it!"

Klose's saving grace from Armstrong's forthcoming 'attempts of persuasion' came as everyone's attention turned to the room door as it slowly opened. Maria Ross pardoned herself and stepped into the room, gently shutting the door in her wake.

Armstrong looked back to her, "Lieutenant?"

She simply nodded in response to a question the lieutenant colonel did not have to ask. Movement from the corner came as the pair standing there stepped out.  Lieutenant Ross stepped aside to allow them to pass by.

"Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong, if we could?"

"Of course," Armstrong stood up allowing the pair to sit down on the bench that had been brought into the room. He gave a momentary glance over to Maria Ross.

"Klose."

Wrinkling her face more, she adjusted her right arm within the sling it was cradled in.

"Young lady, my name is Roy Mustang, I am a brigadier general here in Central City. Do you understand why a ‘Brigadier General’ would be in your hospital room? " he waited a moment to see if she'd respond, but no response was forthcoming. Mustang decided to move simply to the point of his questioning, "Edward Elric was, at one time, my subordinate. And his younger brother, Alphonse, was greatly involved with the military and its operations as well."

"Good for you!" she retorted with typically stubborn teenage manners, "Then why don't you talk to him about this! I don't see what this has-"

"By his own choice, Edward Elric cut off contact with the military.  I have not heard from him in almost nine months," he had grown weary of listening to her game and even more so unimpressed by her childish behaviour, "yet the child in that room upstairs, by your claims, is his younger brother. That is something I am finding very hard to believe."

Havoc looked away from the conversation, grinding his cigarette end in his teeth, _'isn't information Edward supposed to be classified?'_

Klose continued to look away, yet the comments Mustang had just made ran through her mind, "Elric could be a very common name for all I know."

The resolution in Mustang’s voice was clear and concise, "I have no intention of marching into a room upstairs where there’s a sick little boy when I have a snippy little girl sitting in front of me who thinks she's being smart by adding little lies each time she repeats her story," hints of frustration began to mount in his tone, "and we are not leaving this room until you start cooperating. Have I made this situation clear to you?"

Lt. Ross smiled to herself, _'He's being very careful with that young boy upstairs.'_

"Fine!" Klose turned in her bed to them and with an intolerable attitude not used since she last disobeyed her father, her voice shot back at Roy, "Look, I met him at the train station, I don't know where he was going. I asked him what his name was because I thought his voice sounded familiar. I was told his name was Alphonse Curtis. _I_ decided his name was Alphonse Elric because he sounded like he should be called that. I told you that name by accident. I was tired – his last name is actually Curtis. He can't be the Alphonse Elric I know, because that one is older than me and didn't look anything like that. Are you happy NOW? I'm sorry that my mistake with his name caused so much trouble, Mister Important!" She finalized her statement by throwing her fist down into the sheets with a huff.

Trying to atone for what was said when she first arrived at the hospital had become increasingly difficult and Klose only managed to dig herself a deeper and deeper hole. When asked who the young boy was that came in with her, Klose mistakenly gave the name Elric. She had also brought up Izumi's name when the doctors wanted someone to contact for him. But the moment Armstrong stepped into the room she remembered that Alphonse was traveling under the name Curtis, not Elric, Klose had been trying to backtrack ever since.

Lieutenant Ross slipped out of the room.

Roy's eyes narrowed at her. He tapped his knee with a finger as his mind dissected her outburst. Slowly slouching over, he rested his chin in his hand and wondered about an alternative line of questioning that had also been bothering him, "What were you two doing in that building?"

Klose flung herself back onto her pillow, "I don't remember. I remember smoke, I remember gunshots, and I don't remember anything else. I don't even remember when I broke my shoulder. Okay? I'm sorry."

Armstrong rose up behind his superior officer, "You heard gunshots?"

"You were in that market?" Roy's tone perked with interest. They had not been found anywhere near the market crowds, but on the opposite block where they'd managed to escape.

Klose looked over at the pair of military men; the sudden change in questioning was far easier to share, "Yeah. We followed someone into an alley. We looked back and saw a lady out in the street get shot, so we ran," she put her hand to her forehead where a bandage was taped covering the stitches she'd received, "um, the building exploded and we ended up in the other building after that."

Armstrong folded his hefty arms, "Who did you follow into the alley? Did you see who shot the lady?"

Mustang did not toss an additional question in, thought suddenly he had a mounting list of them. He simply watched Klose’s facial expressions as she responded.

"No," Klose replied, feeling as though she was letting someone down by not being able to help identify anyone, "the alley was dark and it was just something moving in there. Man shaped shadow I guess. The lady just fell to the ground. I think it was the first gunshot before all the noise. She was just a street vendor…"

Armstrong nodded slowly. Klose looked up at him but the towering man's questioning seemed to of finished for the time being. He finally thanked her and stepped back towards the door, "Lieutenant?"

Havoc perked up and followed close behind as Armstrong left the room.

Mustang and Hawkeye, who had yet to lend her voice to the situation, were left in the room. They were the only other two out of uniform beyond Lieutenant Ross. Roy sat, dressed in black pants, a white dress shirt and a pale grey-blue sweater. Riza's arms rested folded across her white blouse, and a dark brown jacket matching the knee-length skirt she wore lay folded in her lap. By their appearances, they looked out of place among the men, yet Roy's presence in the room had managed to orchestrate everyone's actions like a master puppeteer over the last hour – even when he'd said nothing. Klose knew it. She wished he would leave, but something told her it wouldn't happen.

Outside the room, Havoc sighed, leaning up against the wall across from the room where his superiors still remained. He looked over to Armstrong, concern flashing through his eyes, "It was consistent with what we've heard so far about what's happened, isn't it? Gunshots first, explosions... other people saw the gunmen duck into the alleys."

"When they were in the alley, they must have prevented someone from setting off the last set of explosives," Armstrong nodded slowly, his voice sounding powerful even if he toned it down in thought, "to think those children made it out of that disaster alive the way they did."

"Two saving graces for the government anyways," Havoc sighed and stared up to the ceiling. He chewed the end of his cigarette off in his teeth before spitting it out onto the floor, "didn't the _bureaucrats_ disregard the terrorist threats as hot air? This is the third time in the last four months. We're not being taken seriously as a political state and the government is acting like none of this is happening. If they keep doing that-"

"Lieutenant," Armstrong interjected, his sobriety and composure continually on display ended the conversation. He looked down to the floor at the rolling cigarette, "This is a hospital, pick it up."

* * *

Once again, finding himself sitting upon his suitcase, Edward stared off into the pale grays and blues that began to emerge over the lush forest hills – the beginning of sunrise. His thumb hooked through the clasp on his watch as he mindlessly twirled the chain-linked keepsake around at his side.

From the ancient second floor window of the elder Oberth's mediaeval styled home, the professor's voice called out to Edward, "The sun isn't up yet, Vlad may still be out. Watch yourself."

"Huh?" Ed looked blankly over his shoulder and up to the window, catching the watch cleanly in his hand. In the silence of the morning, he could hear the man descend the staircase within the house. Ed kept an eye on the door as the man took a moment to emerge, toting his leather bag of supplies.

"Who?" Ed asked again, straightening his vest as he stood up.

"Don't worry about it," the professor laughed as the two began their early morning walk to the train station, "simply a ghost story told to keep the children from playing in the streets all night long. It's teased about in Sunday School since the devil's house is so close to the church."

Scratching his cheek a little in confusion, Ed looked down at the stone path before them, walking to the beat of his counterpart's footsteps. He said nothing more. There was no way Ed could qualify the statement, he wasn't certain where it would head. His disinterest in religion haunted him wherever he went; it was a part of everyday life on this side no matter what country in Europe he entered. It was something he had never encountered back home. Yes, there were religious groups, but for most people it wasn't part of daily life. Here though, no matter where he traveled to, religion and church was what many people based their lives off of. He was constantly reminded about people's sensitivity with the issue and always seemed to find people who believed that one religion or another was either superior or inferior. He could not understand why – they all sounded fundamentally the same to him. Over the last year he'd found his disinterest turn into a blanket of dislike of religious beliefs. This was certainly not helped by a speech given by the NSDAP chairman earlier in April that he and his father had sat through. Ed had learnt quite quickly after arriving in this world that it was simply safer to say nothing at all when the subject came up.

The two men walked in silence to the train station from the doctor's old home. Ed did not enjoy the walk he'd had the night before - from the hospital, over to one house and then to the next. It was as if the townspeople watched him from every angle and their gaze never let go. An unfamiliar face was quite uncommon and the war had put everyone on an edge where it was hard to feel safe.  In a place where everyone seemed to know everyone else no one knew him and therefore did not trust nor want his presence. It was somewhat of a relief that he had slept through the daylight hours. Oddly, doctor mentioned to him that from time to time he could tell Edward's first language was not German and that became another glowing label slapped on his forehead; he was thankful doctors were un-prejudicial in nature. Though, language seemed to be something Ed picked up on quiet easily beyond the Gate and found he was quite skilled at learning, which was fortunate for him because historical alchemy knowledge in this world was based on language scripts. He'd never encountered a foreign language at home and had never heard of the majority of the ones beyond the Gate.

Approaching the train station that was now within shouting distance, the doctor stopped suddenly, "You're up so early!" he exclaimed in surprise.

Ed stopped as well, looking around to the young girl whom the doctor had just addressed.

"The cows have been so good in the mornings these last few days. Mother wants us to get everything we can from it," the tiny brown haired, hazel-eyed girl, who could not be more than 10 years old, sat her carton of glass milk bottles down onto the clay path.

"Your brother should be carrying those," the doctor's fathering tone returned to his voice, "what sort of young man lets a little girl carry things like this?"

The girl suddenly waved her hands quickly, "No, no, I offered! I'm just taking these over to the store, did you want one Professor?" the girl held out a sealed bottle from the lot, but her attention turned to the on looking Edward. She hesitated, but finally offered, "or perhaps one for your friend?"

Ed raised his hands in defense sharply, "Oh no, no no… you should sell it at your store. It would be wasteful any other way," a guilt pain hit him having just finished lamenting over the unwelcoming nature of the town not long ago.

"The milk is best early in the morning," she smiled sweetly at him.

An uncomfortable sweatdrop ran down his cheek, "No… no, really, I had breakfast. I'm good for the day."

Folding his arms, the doctor shot a malicious look at Edward, "You should drink your milk – everyone knows that. It's good for your bones and will help you grow str-"

"I don't need to _grow_!" Ed's eye twitched unnaturally as a maddening look crossed his face, "I did that already! How come this never stops!" the circles under his eyes darkened as his eye twitched again, "Why is no one able to appreciate how getting this tall is the best things that has happened since I got here!" Ed slammed his foot down on the dry clay path causing a thin cloud of dust to arise at his feet, "that _milk_ is not going to change the fact I came this close to 170 before it stopped. So, I'd like to see _you_ find a bean this size!"

The doctor's blank look and the girl's dumbfounded expressions did not faze Edward as he lurched himself around and came nose to nose with the doctor.

"Well?!"

The pair engaged in an unanswerable staring match between The Misunderstood and The Confused for a prolonged moment. Finally, glancing to the side momentarily, the doctor took a sharp step backwards, "Have a good trip, Edward Elric."

* * *

Broche leaned his chair back against the wall, balancing it on the two hind legs. He folded his arms across his chest and stared off into space.

"Don't let the chair slide out from under you," Lieutenant Ross came down the hall, the heels of her shoes echoing with each step she took.

Broche raised an eyebrow as he looked in her direction, "I'm a professional chair balancer, don't worry."

Shaking her head with a grin she leaned up against the wall next to him, "Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong called out Mustang."

Broche rocked his chair back to four legs and looked up at his superior officer, "Isn't that what you wanted to happen when I delivered that message?"

"It was," her smile was distant as she relaxed a bit, "I thought he had the right to know what was going on. He may still be on leave, but he had many years of his life wrapped up with them. It would have been unfair any other way," Maria brushed her hair aside and stepped around the young Sergeant, "is Alphonse asleep?"

Stretching out his shoulders, Broche pulled himself to his feet, "Yeah I think so. I haven't heard a peep from him. Did you have a chance to talk with him much before you left?"

Shaking her head, the lieutenant looked down at the door handle, "No, he seemed out of it. The doctors gave both of them some strong pain killers and the last thing he seemed to remember was that girl downstairs. He was really concerned for her …"

Broche frowned a touch, "Do you think that could be really him? I mean…"

Without hesitation Lieutenant Ross nodded firmly, "He is. It's just information isn't adding up," she glanced a puzzled look at the young officer, "Why does that girl insist he's traveling under Izumi's name? Where IS Izumi? Why would they not contact us if they were coming through Central? And where's Edward? Since when did those boys not travel together?"

Bringing his hand to his chin in thought, Broche frowned at the possibility, "Do you think Edward was caught in the explosions? That whole mess is still smoldering..."

"No," She rested her hand on the doorframe, "the first words out of his mouth would have been 'Where is my brother?' not 'How is Klose?' I don't understand. And that girl told you and the doctors a completely different story than the one she's telling now."

"I can't answer that one," Broche stretched out one more time and dropped himself back into the chair. From the corner of his eye he watched Ross pretending as though she did not want to go back into the room. He grinned to himself, "So why don't you ask him yourself? Alphonse has always been more honest with you than Edward ever was. You don't want him to disappear on you before you get a chance to chat some more. Right?"

Relenting easily she popped the door open, "I suppose you're right."

Cocking his head with a smirk, Broche quipped as she walked into the room, "Of course I-"

"BROCHE!"

The panic in her voice threw him to his feet.

 

"Everyone probably thinks I'm dead," Klose groaned, cautiously rubbing the bandage on her forehead, "my head hurts still…"

Riza stood up a moment, grabbing the medical clipboard hanging off the end post of the bed, "I don't think they can give you anything else for another hour or two."

"And my shoulder hurts even more…" giving a long and emphatic whine for sympathy, Klose glanced over to Mustang hoping her complaining would give him cause to leave.

Riza gave Roy a similar, 'are we finished here?' glance as she re-attached the clipboard and sat down next to him again. He did not respond to either Riza or Klose’s nonverbal hints.

Riza frowned.

"Sir?" she prompted him, "should we inquire into the progress of the Lieutenant Colonel's investigation?"

Roy gave a reluctant sigh, "It would be prudent." Slowly he rose to his feet, rubbing his sore leg as he did so, wondering if it was ever going to heal properly. Gathering his coat, Roy paused a moment and stepped back over to Klose's bed. He eased himself down on the foot of the bed and looked over at her. Klose tried to avoid eye contact with him, fidgeting with her sheets to distract herself from him.

"Can you tell me…" he waited for her to look up at him before continuing on. If he could see how her eyes reacted to his questioning he could judge the truth in her statement. Luckily for his patience, Klose fell into his web, "Can you tell me how you got out from beneath that building and into the one we found you by?"

A knock came at the door; Riza glanced over but did nothing for it, she was intent to let the brigadier general finish.

"… I didn't get out from beneath a building…" she sat back slowly, confused by the question.

Roy frowned, "You had to have done that. You said you were next to a building that exploded," he adjusted himself at the end of the bed, "two of the three structures exploded outwards with enough force that the building walls entered the alleys. The floors collapsed down freely. An immense amount of debris was in the alleyways and streets."

Klose carefully ran that through her mind, "I don't understand… that's not what--"

"But the building Sergeant Broche found you two lying by was an office building that the third structure toppled onto because one of the charges didn't go off. That was the building you came out of. The back alley was the separation between the two locations. It was filled with chunks of wall, flooring and general debris that would have been impossible to dig out of from below. Was there a pocket you two were in and how did you get out of it?"

Looking down into her lap, Klose tried to replay the moments in her mind.

"The explosion happened on your right hand side did it not?" Roy gestured to the obvious display of gashes, scabs, scrapes and bruises that centered heavily on the right side of her body, "You must have been in that back alley behind both buildings. If you had not made it that far, then when the building had exploded, you would have had no way to gain access to the area we found you in. You would have retreated to the market because of the debris. Now, if you were deep in the alley, near its other end, building two would have killed you before building three did."

Roy's matter-of-fact speech sent a chill into her spine… the information and logic so concise compared to her chaotic memories, "We… turned a corner… and went another way."

"Fair answer. So, my question again was: how did you get out from under that pile of debris?"

Klose sat there, her eyes in her lap, replaying the moment Al used the transmutation circle she'd drawn for him. She did not want to tell him that. Though, if what he was saying was correct, she could not dodge an honest answer. Her shoulders deflated, "I don't know."

A faint smirk crossed Roy's lips momentarily as he stood up, "I'll let you think on your answer. You've given yourself a high standard of deception, I expect you to do better than 'I don't know' later. I look forward to whatever story you concoct for me," the victory sarcasm dripped from his mouth, "I certainly hope it'll be as creative as the story you will give me for the 'unnatural hole in the wall' Sergeant Broche told us he found you two by."

Mustang threw his dark grey trench coat over his shoulders and let himself out of the room, followed closely behind by Hawkeye. Both of them stumbled to a halt when, immediately out of the door, they could move no further. Roy staggered back into the doorway, bumping Riza off balance. He looked back at her as the lieutenant caught her balance, before the unnerved and suddenly annoyed brigadier general glared down at what was deliberately blocking his path.

"Out of the way," he commanded in a tone interchangeable with 'Jump!'

Alphonse did no such thing.

He stood before the pair in the washed out grey pants and white shirt the hospital had provided. His skin an unhealthy pale colour, his hair still a 'fresh out of bed' mess, and the light circles under his eyes made his cross expression even more emphatic. In a similar commander's tone he replied, "Klose is in there and I want to talk to her."

That unmistakable voice, from an unfamiliar boy's face, shot into the hard shell of the normally steadfast man. For an urgent moment a startled expression flooded into Roy Mustang’s good eye as it widened.

* * *

 **To Be Continued...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not know if Oberth's father went by the surname of Krasser or Oberth, I chose Oberth.
> 
> Schässburg (Schäßburg) is the German name for the city. Its Romanian name is Sighişoara.
> 
> Hermannstadt is now called Sibiu.
> 
> Edited: 2004-11-16, 2010-05-30, & 2012-01-20


	3. Those Who Watch Over Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed makes his way back to Munich through Vienna to brainstorm with his father about how to find Oberth but finds himself with two unexpected visitors. Mustang and Hawkeye try to figure out how this eleven-year-old can be sixteen-year-old Alphonse as the new government leader takes the young Elric into his care.

_"Hm… well, his name was Roy Mustang and he was a Colonel in the army. He was distinguished as being a fighter in Ishibal and knowing how to master fire through alchemy. He was one of the first military personnel you ever met and you guys spent a couple of years out East under his supervision. I don't think Ed ever liked him too much, but you never seemed to be upset with him like Ed always was.  Um… I did get to ride on the train once with his lieutenant. She was dedicated to him and what he stood for. I suppose they were good people. Those two and their comrades went out of their way to make sure you guys were okay – to look out for you and to protect you. I don't know what else I could tell you about him that you'd want to know…"_

Biting down on an apple, Ed scanned the corner store's book and magazine stand. With his train out of Vienna not leaving for another three hours, the decision was made that he should actually see something in the city, rather than grow old sitting at a bench. Holding the ripe apple in his teeth, Ed picked up a local paper and quickly skimmed it over.

"Looking for something in particular?"

Flipping the print shut, Edward returned it to the rack, "Nope," he dropped the apple into his hand, "I'm just killing time."

The man tending the stand leaned over a rack of magazines as he eyed Edward, "Where are you going?"

As if the connection between Edward and travelling was unnecessary, he replied, "Back to Germany."

The man's thick black eyebrows twitched, "What the hell is with all the Germans?" he shook, "you'd think all of you would still be too embarrassed to show your faces outside of your country."

Ed snorted at the comment, "Why do you assume I'm German?"

With a shrug the man replied, "You said 'Back to Germany'. No other reason to go to Germany unless you belong there. Half the country still discovering how to build houses, the economy is horrid, and taking us down with it. The politicians sound like they can't tell what colour the sky is, PLUS the dirt I'm standing on is worth more than your Mark."

"I suppose those can be good reasons," Ed responded casually, like the man's comments meant nothing to him, and he gnawed on his apple a bit more.

"And then you think you can walk into Vienna and pawn off your propaganda on us!" the man's voice continued to rise.

Ed rolled his eyes and looked over at the keeper, "Who's handing out propaganda?"

At the question, the man abruptly knelt down behind his stand. Tilting his head in curiosity, Ed waited for him to rise again. Suddenly a magazine launched into the air and Ed grabbed it by its fluttering pages before it could make contact with the ground.

"Take it back with you. Just because the NSDAP chairman used to live in this city it does not mean everyone here is going to follow that type of thinking."

A look of confusion had become etched on Ed's face while he smoothed out the publication in his hands, "What is it?"

"Its garbage is what it is. Some guy, Hess I think he said his name was, came through here the other day and asked me to hand out some of those," the man continued on as Ed examined the cover, "I put it on the shelf too; I'd seen another stand with it downtown. Damn fool I was, I should have read it first. My mother broke down in tears when she saw it."

Flipping to the index page, Ed scanned the publishing and content index trying to catch what was so wrong with this obviously German magazine. The man prattled on showing little concern for the lack of attention Ed was giving him. Through the man's noise, Edward placed the magazine down upon the table to examine it further. Biting into his apple again Edward stalled as he was about to flip beyond the index. With a swift flick of his left wrist, Edward took the apple from his mouth and placed it atop of the magazine stand, "Eckart…?" his voice ringing with disapproval.

The shopkeeper eyed Edward's apple unimpressed before looking back over to him, "I said Hess, that's nothing like Eckart."

Flipping the magazine shut, Ed glanced over to the man, "No, Eckart is the editor of this magazine."

As if his voice could bite, the shopkeeper stepped out from behind his stand, "Someone you know?"

"Someone my father's met," Ed rolled up the magazine in his hand and tucked it under his right arm, "this is garbage right?"

"Take it!" the man waved an arm emphatically, "take your food with you too!"

Snatching up his apple, Ed turned and walked away from the riled shopkeeper. Taking a final bite of his apple, Ed threw it into the street-side trash, making his way back to the train station.

* * *

Al clenched his fists to disguise any sign of shaking as he stared up to the man who stood in his path. Forcing as much determination into his gaze as he could encourage, Al was surprised to find himself winning the stare-down. The soldier standing before him suffered from a momentary loss of words.

"I…" Al hesitated - he could force himself to look stern, but his demeanour could not so easily be overcome, "I heard what you were talking about in there."

The pause in the young boy's words gave the startled Brigadier General a chance to recompose himself. Mustang's overwhelmed expression vanished and he stiffened his jaw while his good eye analyzed what stood before him. Mustang said nothing which obviously sent a sting of nerves through Alphonse.

"You don't need to treat Klose like that if she doesn't know anything," the circles under Al's exhausted eyes turned a shade darker while challenging the man he realized was a high ranking officer of some sort, even though he wasn't dressed like it.

After a moment of pause, Roy took a backwards step into the room. Riza backed up as well, allowing a path for Al to enter. Not expecting his strategy to have worked, Al's determined disposition vanished away from his face and it left him standing puzzled in the hall. Unsure for a few moments if he should proceed, Al finally stepped past them into the room. He felt everyone's eyes, dressed with unnerved expressions Al could not identify, following his every step. Without glancing back, the boy's mind wandered back to the first man he'd encountered – the man with the eye patch – and Al innocently wondered what might have happened to him.

Alphonse made his way over to Klose and Roy watched as the two children embraced. Their ensuing chatter echoed outside of his thoughts to allow his mind time to decipher what was going on. He glanced over to Riza, catching her distant expression as she watched Alphonse and Klose. The sense of someone watching her grabbed the woman's attention and she looked over to Roy. The look in her eyes asked nothing but questions and the expression upon his face provided no answer.

"Alphonse," Roy's firm release of his name startled the young boy and he quickly looked over.

A hint of frustration crossed the Brigadier General's expression; the more he thought about the boy standing in front of him, the more questions he had that needed answering and Roy did not appreciate being left to openly wonder. Though he had Al's attention, Roy paused their moment in time, unsure which question would be the most appropriate one to ask. An uneasy thought crossed Roy's mind – this boy may not be the youngest Elric. Yet, for the few moments he'd been in the boy's presence, every fibre of the man's being told him otherwise, and he'd never been one to distrust his own instinct.

"What are you doing here in Central?" Roy's question was blunter than he'd intended, but the confusion and frustration was growing.

Taken aback by the abrupt question, Al took a more defensive posture, "There was a train delay." His answer was accurate and direct and not at all what Mustang wanted to hear.

"And you did not bother to contact anyone…?"

Confusion and exhaustion fuelled Al's confrontational tone, "Why would I need to contact anyone?"

Roy let out a forceful sigh, perfecting his posture as he did so. His authoritative gaze rained down over Al, "I'm finding it hard to understand that _you_ did not believe anyone would not be concerned."

Al glanced back to Klose, puzzled by the phrasing of the officer's statement, but Klose's voice rang out and it distracted Al from his concerns.

"Central isn't a place that you have to register to get into. It's enough that they're making people carry around identification now."

"We had identification and train passes anyways, so there's no reason for me to have to register with the city! Why would a city this huge care about what visitors it gets?!" Al's defiant voice almost echoed. Perhaps a logical conversation would have commenced if Al hadn't felt so crushed under his own tired weight. The raising of his voice caused Al to cough again and he crawled up onto the bed next to Klose to wait for it to subside. The cough began to clear as he sipped some water from a glass on the nightstand. Al sat at the edge of the bed, his legs dangling over – legs only long enough for his tiptoes to touch the ground. He looked back at the officers with one hand at his chest from the coughing. There was a sudden change in the officer's expressions and it froze both Al and Klose and they stiffened as Riza began to approach them. Her high-heeled shoes echoed in the room as she moved, quieting when she stopped, and then the woman crouched down before the young boy.

"Alphonse…" her voice sounding distant, "how old are you?"

His answer sent a chill through the room, "Eleven."

Roy’s brow wrinkled in displeasure of his own misperception. The voice of Alphonse Elric in the armour had never aged and never matured; the voice had remained constant. The mind's eye image of what Al would look like never evolved. Though knowing full well that Alphonse Elric would be 16 by now, the mental image Al's voice had given everyone never reflected his actual age. If the Philosopher's Stone had been used, like Ed had desired for his younger brother, then why was Al here like this – as a child? Could this boy be Alphonse Elric _without_ a doubt? Suddenly, a new list of questions sprang up.

"That's not possible," Roy's voice cut through the room. All eyes turned to him as he stepped up behind Riza. His single eye glanced back to Klose, a momentary concern for her presence was quickly disregarded as he spoke again, "the Philosopher's Stone Edward said he had would have bypassed any law of Equivalent Exchange."

Al's eyes widened abruptly.

Roy frowned, "That does not explain how it is possible for you to be here… like this."

* * *

"Edward!"

The voice calling the name was not distinguishable above the noisy crowd at the train station in Munich.

"Edward! Edward! Dammit, over here! EDWARD!"

By chance Ed glanced over his shoulder and spotted the waving hand within the crowd, "What the…?" his voice suddenly full of displeasure and confusion. Shoving through the crowd, Ed turned off of his aimless path and headed towards the young man calling for him.

"Ah! Thank God…" the teenager, just old enough to be officially considered a man, stepped through the crowd to join Ed.

Shaking the hair from his face, Ed moved to within earshot, "Hoffie, what are you doing here?" his voice heavy with an unimpressed undertone that his listener did not pick up on.

"Professor Hohenheim asked me to pick you up, he couldn't get away," he announced as the two made their way through the thinning crowd.

Ed was surprised by the comment, "You mean the old man actually got the telegram I sent from Vienna?" he swung his briefcase over his shoulder, "strange things happen now and then it seems. I was sure I'd have to catch a taxi or walk."

Edward's younger companion put his hands in his pockets as the two began to walk, "That's probably why the professor asked me to pick you up."

Giving a sigh, Edward narrowed his eyes. Some days he simply did not appreciate his father's concern over his physical state - Ed was not an invalid. Besides which, he had been having far better luck with the leg than he was with the arm anyways, "Hoffie, I don't need to be babysat. If I can take off to the vast land of Rumania, I can certainly trek across the even vaster land of Munich," Ed's sarcasm rained down upon his companion.

"I'm sure you can," the young man said with complete disregard to Edward's tone, "and stop calling me that!"

"There's nothing wrong with calling you Hoffie," Edward knew the question was coming and rolled his eyes as they exited the station and out into the bustling streets of mid-day Munich.

"How the hell did you come up with 'Hoffie'?! It sounds like something a kindergartener would say," the younger man's disapproving scowl eyed Edward.

"Hoffie is?" Edward looked up at a sickly blue sky; "I've called you Hoffie for years…"

"And I've objected for years!" he took a swift, deep breath in through clenched teeth, "it sounds like a disease or something."

Ed flashed a cocky smirk back in response, "And so now that you're a big 18-year-old-boy, I can't call you Hoffie? Your dad thinks it's funny at least."

"You're not much older than me, so don't lecture me like that," the young man gave a defeated exhale and simply shook his head, "What's wrong with calling me Al?"

"I’m not calling you 'Al'," Ed's emotionless tone slapped his listener across the face, leaving no room for negotiation on the issue.

Reaching into his pocket for a set of car keys, Albrecht Haushofer opened the door for Edward, "But everyone else calls me Al," he nearly whined to Ed like a child pleading to their mother for a wedge of chocolate from the corner store.

“Your friends at school call you Al,” Ed sat himself down abruptly in the passenger's seat, "I will not call you Al."

Adjusting himself in the driver's seat, Albrecht turned the key in the ignition, "Could we settle on Albrecht at least?"

"No, I like Hoffie."

Albrecht slammed his foot down upon the gas pedal and the car lurched forward. The corner of Ed's mouth curled upwards as he grinned to himself and from there on two moved through the city in silence. Ed's mind drifted and he began to lose track of time as the drive wore on. His eyes following the edge of the sidewalk – it caught his attention that yet again the city's garbage removal team had possibly gone on strike again. If it wasn't apparent by simply looking at it, he could certainly smell the rotting materials from time to time. A few moments later, Ed jolted as the car was brought to a stop.

"Did you want to head out _there_ or just go to the university?" Albrecht asked, stopping the car at the campus parameter.

"I'd rather the university," Ed's voice suddenly sounded tired as he looked over to one of the university entrances, "I can still get in if I change my mind." As he stepped out from the car, Edward turned back to look inside, "Say… do you know when Hess went to Vienna?"

Albrecht laughed at that, "Last weekend. You were busy off at the central office trying to locate that Obergg-something-er-other."

"Did he really think that trying to corrupt shop owners in Vienna would do him any good?" Ed leaned up against the side of the car as he spoke, "I think they're kind of mad."

Shrugging a bit, Albrecht spoke with a disturbingly encouraged tone, "What do you mean 'corrupt'? He does what he has to. Rudolph wants to make sure he's the right hand man when they push again for a leadership change – he has to show his support and allegiance. I suggested he decentralize a bit; get his ideas out to more than just the German people. Talk to the Austrians and Hungarians and get an allegiance of supporters outside of the country as well; alliances are needed internally and externally. You know that filth is everywhere holding back the progression of a better Germany; you know that they're the cause of what continues to bring down this country.  We can't delude ourselves by denying that _they_ aren't out there in places beyond the German countryside. Father said that one of the main reasons for our humiliation was the fact we were naive in understanding the countries, people and terrain around us. Hess agreed that if we could get more than just the German people to understand, it would be easier to rebuild Eastern Europe with a better, stronger image."

A mocking grin crossed Edward's face as he prepared to shut the car door, "You're looking to get into someone's good books. Have you thanked your dad yet for setting up the meeting with him?"

"Oh yeah!" Albrecht replied enthusiastically, "and Rudolph is in touch with the chairman himself - they've been making big pushes for the title of Fuhrer. My father said they're pretty good friends. I'm hoping that I can get my ideas to someone right up at the top. I really want to see my country in a time where we prosper again, all I've seen so far is everyone suffering through war."

Ed paused a moment, drumming his fingers upon the roof of the car, "Seems so, doesn't it," he shut the car door heavily and began to walk towards the east side doors. His expression darkened with each step as he thought about their conversation.

* * *

A long silence ensued before Al re-addressed the man who felt like he towered over him, his face slowly falling at the words Mustang spoke. Finally he shook his head and a solemn voice emerged.

"Something always has to be given up in order to obtain something else."

Though Al’s recollection of his first day after the transmutation was simply a hazy memory of Rose, Izumi, and what he had come to discover was a golem named Wrath, Al's recollection of his second day back was far clearer. He could remember Aunt Pinako bringing him chicken soup as he lay in bed and the memory of his toes and fingertips tingling like they were asleep seemed to stick in his mind. As the day had worn on, Al had gone up to Winry's room where Rose had spent the night – her baby in a makeshift crib nearby. Izumi came up to sit with Al as he slowly rocked the crib the child slept in. He asked his teacher where his brother was and was told a regrettable white lie - Ed was in Central. The unnerving memory of Izumi hugging him as they sat upon the floor, and the baby crib creaking as it swayed, was the clearest thing in his recent memory.

And then Winry came home. She had gone to the train station the day before to see a friend off and ended up spending the night in town at the request of a local mechanic who needed an extra hand. The opportunity to keep herself distracted was welcomed until the morning when Nelly relayed a message from her grandmother that she should return home as soon as possible. Al heard Winry's voice as she came in through the door and the odd out-of-touch feeling he'd felt all day started to lift – Winry was familiar. Winry hadn't been told of Al's situation and Pinako barely had 'Al's in your room' out before her granddaughter took off to see him.

And it was that point when Al realized something was terribly wrong.

With a scream, Winry dropped to her knees on the wooden bedroom floor. Al felt his body unwillingly tremble at the sight of the _woman_ she was – it wasn't right. Never returning to her feet, Winry fumbled her way over to Al as Izumi stepped aside. She rocked with him in her arms on the floor while she cried. All Al could do in return was sway with her like a rag doll while the sense of displacement became overwhelming. The baby began to cry.

As things settled down that night, Al and Winry sat on her bed – her arm draped around Al's shoulder like an older sister should when having a moment with the younger sibling. At that point the both of them learnt that the last five years of Al's memories were missing - there was nothing there either of them could use as a reference point. Al went so far as to laugh awkwardly at some of it, foolishly asking how his hot-headed brother would be able to affix a soul to a suit of armour and how he wished he could 'still' be over six feet tall.

Then Winry explained how he'd lost his body, about Ed's arm and leg, about their burnt down house that could be seen from her window, about Wrath and Ed's limbs, and about how Ed went into the military so he could return things to normal. Over the course of the next several weeks and ongoing months, she, as well as Izumi and Rose, shared select summaries of what they knew of the last five years.

The encounter with Barry, the name Envy, nor the figure that had the face of his mother was ever brought up. Though she shared information about some of the military personnel, Winry did not mention that any of these people were involved with her parents' death. She did not ever want to see Al go to the military for anything, not after all she'd seen them go through. And yet, Winry did not want Al to feel any resentment towards them either.

The Hughes' family was brought up and they talked about how Elysia had been born on Ed's birthday. Eventually Winry had to mention of his passing, but again, she did not elaborate. She did promise that the next morning she'd Al him something from Gracia's recipes. The abnormality that was Alex Louis Armstrong also came up which seemed to make Al giggle.

The careful recollection of Rose and Izumi's stories were relayed delicately to Al. Izumi told Al how Ed believed he could retrieve his body from 'The Gate'. She told him how they went to see Dante for information, but 'problems' arose that caused the boys to have to leave and it was not long afterwards that Dante died. Rose continued the story telling Al that Ed had ended up in Lior again, a place they'd discussed before, along with an Ishibal man named Scar and Dante's apprentice Lyra. Though he asked, none of them knew where Al had been before showing up in Lior.

Pinako, Izumi, Rose, and Winry spent several late evenings discussing how to tell Al what happened next. Did they tell Al what Rose knew about Al becoming the Philosopher's Stone? Do they reveal it to him gradually? Do they tell him that he finally got to meet his father and now can't remember what he was like?

 _How do they tell him about how Ed died?_

Izumi was certain no amount of searching would turn Ed up by this point – the only way Al's existence had the remotest chance of being possible was if Edward had sacrificed himself.  It was the only answer that fit together with the stories Rose shared. The teacher concluded that Al’s five years of missing memories had been used as some sort of leverage to ensure the transmutation’s success. That was the best conclusion she could come to. Rose apologized for not being able to describe much about her encounter with the sins or what on earth Lyra was up to. She explained to her adopted family how, at some point in time, she'd begun to lose touch with reality after encountering the homunculus for the first time and she did not regain consciousness until she witnessed the horrific sight of Envy's arm ripping through Ed's chest. Winry left the table in tears at that point and it took the group some time to recompose themselves. Having no idea how much time had passed, what had gone on, or even when it happened, Rose could not explain why or how Al had become the Philosopher's Stone, only that he'd mentioned it before disappearing to bring Ed back.

Eventually Rose was entrusted with finishing the story to Al, who'd been asking about going to find his brother in Central. She started with the soldiers in Lior and how they had been sacrificed in order to obtain the Philosopher's Stone. Al listened with amazement as she told him the stone was then 'entrusted' to his care, without elaborating much further. Rose's story told of how Ed and Al left again to find the homunculi, who were after the stone so they could kill them. Hohenheim was never mentioned. She told Al that eventually the homunculus kidnapped him, and Izumi helped Ed get back to Central to find valuable location information from some friends from Xenotime. The location the Xenotime boys gave Ed was where Izumi had eventually found Rose and Al, unconscious as a boy once again.

Rose finally told the youngest Elric that his older brother had died after going there; one of the homunculus had killed him. Al was told that he then used the Philosopher's Stone to bring his brother back. Lyra, someone whom no one could give a proper explanation about, tried to get him to stop, but was unsuccessful. She, along with two other Homunculi, had vanished when the transmutation was executed. Rose explained to Al that when Ed finally re-woke, with a perfect set of arms and legs, he planned to destroy the location so no one else would have to die because of the Philosopher's Stone again.

Al finally found out, after Rose'd left with Wrath at Ed’s request, that his older brother had not destroyed the ballroom, but had offered himself as part of a transmutation to allow for Al's safe return. The ballroom was never damaged.

Edward Elric was dead. To say Al was devastated was an understatement.

Weeks later, as he still tried to understand the information given to him and unsuccessfully get more info out of his family, Al asked Izumi why he'd disappeared and needed to be resurrected if he had the Philosopher's Stone. Izumi told him that life was not something even a mythical stone could create; something had to be given up in return. She hoped and prayed that they could detour him enough so Al would never seek the stone for any reason – convince him that the stone itself was not enough to bring anyone back. It was one of the few things Izumi asked of him: not to search for the stone. There was another request that was heavily imposed on Al – not to seek out the military for any reason. This request came from the core of Al's family, whom had all grown weary of the years of mounting concern for their two sons.

So, as the two unfamiliar faces of Riza Hawkeye and Roy Mustang implored the young Alphonse Elric to tell them something, _anything_ , the boy turned his back to them upon the bed; his eyes glancing up through the curtains to the end-of-day sky.

"I don't have anything for you," Al told them.

It was far easier for him to say that than it should have been, but the Alphonse Elric who sat there had no emotional ties to them. He did not even know their names; the only thing he could rely on was the words of the people he knew best. With respect to that, he refused to turn around. The longer they stood there, the more it hurt – it hurt both parties. And as time wore on Al realized more and more just how much he needed them to leave.

It burned in his chest… the questions he wanted to ask them… that he shouldn't.

* * *

"This is so frustrating!" with his feet kicked up onto the table and the phone and notebook numbers next to his feet, Edward slapped his hand over his face.  The faux right arm dangled uselessly over the back of the chair and he let out a long, drawn out groan.

Hohenheim glanced up from his desk within the magnificent office. He adjusted his glasses, giving a slight chuckle to himself before looking back down at his paperwork. Ed shot his eyes over to his father, an unimpressed expression drawn on his face, "What?"

"I didn't say anything," the elder Elric replied without looking up.

"I don't need you to laugh at me," Ed let his leg clunk to the ground as he took his feet off the table, "you try finding someone in all these registries."

His father flicked to the next page in his notes, feigning disinterest, "You've been doing just fine on your own."

Ed dropped his head down on the desk and exhaled a 'pity-me' whine. He'd searched through what he could get of university lodging logs, hotel guest lists, and passenger logs for the last three days, but he could not find any information pertaining to the man he was on a mission to find: Hermann Oberth. To put further dampeners on his spirits, many of the registries, including the university, were being very strict with who had access to their manifests. He was unable to walk in and ask for information.

"Why don't you ask Albrecht to check into the university guest book? His girlfriend works for the registrar, doesn't she?" Hohenheim suggested while jotting down a few notes beneath the flickering light.

Ed sat slouched in his chair glancing over to his father again, "Why don't _you_ ask Professor Haushofer to ask his son to ask his girlfriend to do that?"

Hohenheim rolled his gaze up from the paperwork, eyeing Ed from over top the rim of his glasses; the expression was enough that Ed did not need to hear a verbal no. Ed leaned his chair back upon two legs and then let it drop back to four quickly as he stood up. Flicking the top button of his dress shirt undone in the warming room, Ed walked over to his father's polished oak desk and snatched up a wrapped chocolate from a bowl, "Isn't there anyone you can send me to?" he sucked on the chocolate in his cheek.

Hohenheim returned the dip pen into its holder and sat back in the chair, "The moment I inquire into the registrar's office it'll be gossip. It's not a part of the school I have anything to do with."

"What ever happened to that Angela girl who worked down in filing?" Ed frowned a bit.

His father shook his head, "She transferred months ago," he drifted in his sentence as a hand came to his chin, "… you can ask her though, she's in the library doing bookkeeping. She might know someone who can get you a bigger list."

Giving an affirmative nod, Ed tossed the wrapper into the garbage and gazed up at the bookcase wall his father had filled, draining his mind momentarily from the stress he'd put himself under. Illuminated faintly by the flickering lamp on the desks, Ed looked over the collection encompassing the entire left wall. The curtains behind Hohenheim's desk were drawn – the deep red veil allowed no natural light to seep through.

"Why don't you just go down to the mechanics building and ask about him?"

Edward nearly choked on the candy, "You've got to be kidding. Some of last year's students are still kicking around with the equipment and I'm not their favourite person. Besides, Oberth wasn't one of their favourite people either from what I heard. I doubt he's around there." With a thud, Ed sat himself back down at the cluttered table in the grand expanse of an office.

Watching his son sit at the extra table in the room, Hohenheim stood up from his own desk, giving the bottom of his vest a tug he stepped over to Edward. "You're going to show him the Goddard report?" he eyed the envelope that lay within Ed's mess of papers.

"I heard he was looking for it. It's practically impossible to find here," reaching out, Ed slid the report out in front of himself, "there are some really good theories in here that Oberth hasn't quite gotten to yet. I think it'll help him with his research. I'd like to know what his opinion is on a lot of this stuff. Speed calculations, fuel requirements, stratosphere pressures, oxygen requirements, combustion rates... I'm still lost on a lot of this stuff."

Hohenheim looked down from the corner of his gaze upon his son for a moment. A grin crept across his face as he put a hand down upon Edward's head and ruffled up his hair, "You'll do alright."

"Hey!" Edward swatted away his hand, "dammit all! Don't do that." Ed reached back and pulled the ponytail out of his hair to re-do it. The responses Ed gave to his father's affections had evolved over time: it was no longer rage filled comments of exasperation, it was more like a knee-jerk reaction Ed gave, especially when his father felt it appropriate to mess up his hair.

As he headed towards the door, Hohenheim turned back to ask a question before leaving the room. He stopped before ever speaking, instead he watched as Edward struggled to retie his hair. He wondered how to interject, "Is your shoulder bothering you again?"

"It’s fine," Ed snapped.

Giving an unimpressed frown, Hohenheim walked back towards his desk. Even if the young man wanted to deny it, his father could see that the arm did not have the proper mobility it was supposed to. Opening the bottom right hand drawer, he produced a small leather case from within and headed back towards Edward, "Here -"

Ed turned quickly to face his father, like it was his method of backing away. Ed stood with his hair gathered in his good hand at the back of his head, "Go get your coffee or whatever it was you were going to get." His voice tried to encourage his father to bugger off - it was unsuccessful. With an unrelenting hold, Hohenheim grabbed Edward at the shoulder, turned him about face, and then firmly replanted his stubborn son down in the table's wooden chair. He tossed the case into the mess of papers; it landed with a heavy clunk.

"I don't need you to do this," dropping his hair, Ed tried to move his father's hand from his shoulder.

"Hold your hair back," the firm, authoritative, and nonnegotiable tone of voice caused a reactionary snatch of his hair. Letting his pride slip away from him, Ed's defensive posture wilted with a glare. Sliding his hair over his good shoulder, Ed reached for the leather case upon the table. Opening it, he pulled out a flat head screwdriver and thrust it at his father's hand.

" _Fine_ , do something about it."

The disapproving voice Ed would use when Hohenheim insisted on looking after his arm had also evolved over the years. Though he would be quick to deny it, Edward's display of displeasure had become an act rather than actual anxiety towards his father's attention. Fading over the years was the demoralization he once felt from being cared for by the man. So grossly independent, Ed had never wanted to accept his father's assistance from the day he re-encountered the man in a London hospital, unable to stand or move about on his own. Yet, Hohenheim had started to notice quite some time ago that his son's bitterness was no longer prevalent in his defiant actions or words. Edward had begun to sound more like a child who disapproved of going to bed than anything else. Something within that behavioural evolution let Hohenheim feel at ease; he never commented on the change, but simply played along. He wondered sometimes if Ed realized that they played this game with each other, or if he simply denied himself that awareness. The elder Elric found that he'd come to enjoy the denial exercise his son played with him. Eventually, he'd come to feel there were days Edward would give in so easily it seemed as though he enjoyed the attention Hohenheim gave him.

Ed tossed the hair tie onto the desk in a childish display of displeasure. He undid another button on his shirt so his father could tighten a screw at the back of his shoulder.

"You must have felt this for days," Hohenheim's voice rang with a scolding disapproval as he examined the burden connected to his son's right shoulder.

Ed's face soured; glancing to him, "I had other things I needed to—geh…" he cringed, as his father brought the feeble contraption of an arm to shoulder's height.

"Don't bite your tongue," adjusting the tool at the bolt, he gave it a firm twist as he tightened it into the back of his shoulder blade. Ed lurched in his seat before withering under the pain of the bolt digging into the bone. Hohenheim lowered the arm until it was limp at Ed's side. Dropping his forehead on the table, Ed gave a staggering sigh. He knew the pain would pass, he simply hated having the major connectors adjusted – they hurt the most. Ed didn't wait for the indescribable sensation to pass before lifting his head from the table; he rotated his right shoulder the best he could as he felt his father's hands straighten his shirt collar for him.

"Better?"

Ed cracked his neck as Hohenheim returned the screwdriver to Ed's left hand, "No, I feel worse," came the snarky reply.

Again, with an amused roll of his eyes, Hohenheim shook his head at his son.

As Edward began to put the screwdriver away, his attention became diverted. The golden eyes looked at the table where he intended to put the case and tried to identify what was missing. Before he was given a chance to figure out what he was searching for, the younger Elric abruptly froze.

Sensing the ringing displeasure that was to come, Hohenheim's hand landed upon what was now a stiff shoulder; its presence there encouraging the sudden tension to give way. Sitting ridged in the chair for several indecisive moments, Ed finally slouched over, his helpless gaze cast down to the wooden paneling of the floor as he gave no contest.

"Did you want me to bring you some tea?" Hohenheim asked as he ran a pocket comb once more through his son's hair; pulling it up into the elastic tie.

"No," Ed's relinquished voice sounded.

Stringing the fine strands of blonde hair through the tightening elastic loops, he continued, "Coffee?"

"No," Ed replied with no more life than he had before.

Upon adjusting the tied ponytail, Hohenheim gave Ed a light pat on his good shoulder as stepped towards the door again, "No cream, three sugar?"

"Sure."

Hohenheim paused holding the door handle in his hand, "I'll be right back."

"Yeah," not yet able to lift his heavier arm up from under the burning pain, Ed reached his good hand back and ran the length of ponytail between his thumb and index finger.

* * *

This day, dressed in uniform, Lieutenant Ross sat in a cushioned chair in the curtain-closed room. A little blueberry scented candle graced the table on which the water pitcher and a basket of freshly cut garden flowers sat; the candle light flickering patterns upon the wall through the distilled water. Atop the covers of the neatly folded bed, Alphonse lay quietly and Maria was unsure if he was asleep or not. Al had stopped speaking to anyone the day before and Maria had come to realize how profoundly that had affected everyone if the vicious tongue-lashing given by Brigadier General Mustang to herself and Sergeant Broche about their poor attention to Al's whereabouts was any indication.

The opened door woke her from her daydreaming state as she glanced up to her underling sergeant, "Ma'am, Klose's father is downstairs."

In a quiet voice she spoke in response, "Any word on where Izumi is?"

"No, I haven't heard," Broche replied, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind himself, "is he feeling better yet?"

Lieutenant Ross gave a hefty sigh as she slouched tiredly, "I don't know."

"Um…" Broche hesitated for a moment, "the Prime Minister wants to see them… Al and Klose," he watched as Lieutenant Ross's eyes look up at him, "I guess his wife has been in the hospital, she's been rather sick lately, but they caught wind of their stay here and want to meet them."

Maria gave a disgusted snort, "Political propaganda again."

Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Broche pressured her to explain what she meant by her comment.

"Oh come on. As if the 'people and family friendly' image is anything but a charade. The man hastily marries a much younger woman, they adopt one of the infant orphans, and now they're parading around as if they're the perfect couple to lead us into this 'new era'," she straightened herself in her seat, "I'd have been happier if the man would worry about this country before worrying about his image."

Broche grinned a bit, "Oh come on, they're trying at least. We've seen political changes in other countries. It's not easy. It hasn't even been a year yet," he sat down in the vacant chair next to hers, "besides, I heard they're actually really good people. Can't you appreciate that at least?"

Lieutenant Ross simply rolled her eyes again at him, "We're not going to argue this in here." She stood up and walked through the candle lit room towards Al who lay curled up atop the covered bed; he had not turned over to face them since the night before.

"Alphonse," Maria whispered, "If you need anything, we'll just be outside, alright?"

Broche took his cue to exit the room, holding the door open for his superior. Hearing the door click shut behind them, Al slowly glanced over his shoulder. The sorrow he'd felt for himself and the people around him that he wished would stop haunting him had faded overnight. Now, he simply wanted to get out of the hospital and find Izumi. His eyes looked around the room for an exit that was not his third floor window. While his mind ran through scenarios, he could hear the voices in the hallway becoming more prevalent. Before being given a chance to roll back up on his bed and feign exhaustion once more, the door swung open.

Al crossed his legs upon the bed and looked to the door. He stared at a moderately built, slightly out of shape, grey haired father-figure of a man in the doorway. Appearing to be in at least his 50s, his gaze looked upon Al with curiosity.

"He looks a bit older than I thought he would for someone of his age."

Al's cheek twitched in confusion at the statement. His expression began to lift when he caught the displeased expression in the one eye of the man who'd interrogated him last night.

Outside of the room Hawkeye and Havoc flanked a visually displeased Roy Mustang, who was still out of uniform, though his officers came today dressed to represent the nation. Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Broche both stood outside as well, seemingly confused by what was going on.

"Alphonse Curtis, was it?" The man gave Al a smile, "you're looking healthier than I'd been lead to believe."

Al's defensive posture caused him to draw back, narrowing a puzzled gaze at the man.

"Ah! No don't worry, I'm not a mind reader," the man's well-meant attempt at a jolly disposition tried to ease the tension, "That sour looking officer out there told me that's who you were."

Al glanced past the man to catch Roy's gaze once again trained upon him. He stared back at his frustrated observer with a look of surprise and confusion. After all the trouble Al had caused for them, caused with Klose, how angry he'd made them the night before... what was this man doing identifying him with the assumed ‘Curtis’ name when he obviously knew otherwise?

"Now young man, that Colonel Mu-"

"Brigadier General, sir," the correction dribbled from the corner of Roy's mouth.

"That Brigadier General Mustard ov-"

"Must- **ANG** "

Al found himself giving the situation a light giggle as he glanced away from the doorway gathering to the man who was now standing over him. The elder gentleman, dressed in a fine grey suit and tie sat down on the bed next to Al, "That Brigadier General Mustang over there says that you're a very lucky boy. And he also says your mother, Izumi, is missing."

A pinch of concern started to swell in Al's chest at the thought of his missing teacher. It had been days since he'd last seen her.

"I want you to be assured that we're doing our best efforts to find her," the elder man continued on, "but until then you're invited to be my guests. You two children are a symbol of this country's will to survive. I want to make sure you're treated as such."

Al raised his eyebrows at the man in surprise.

The scowl on Roy's face darkened as he moved into the doorway, "Does the government not have anything more important to do than worry about these children? I told you that we were perfectly fine to look after him until his mother is found. I know a family that would be more than willing to-"

Dawning a similar gaze of dissatisfaction for Roy's interference, the elder man cut him off, "The military does not have the same authority as it used to have; you seem to forget this a little too often Mr. Mustang."

Al's eyes drifted over to the frustrated man in the doorway, ' _Wait a minute … Mustang…?_ '

"The government can take under its wing any issue it deems fit," the man's voice came across the room clearly with authority, "I’ll thank you for handling this matter up until now, but these children are wards of the state until their parents or relatives are found or come forward to claim them. I believe that young lady's father has already taken her back under his care. It's time for you to take your associates and step aside on this matter, the military's overbearing presence in government affairs is not the acceptable norm any longer. Have I made myself clear?"

Roy didn't give the man the pleasure of a verbal answer, instead he simply took a backwards step out of the room. The four lower officers around him waited for a command Mustang was not yet ready to give.

"Very good then," the man rose back to his feet, "Alphonse?" he waited until Al looked back up towards him, "my name is Sebastian Mitchell, when you're discharged from the hospital tomorrow do you have any objections to staying with my wife and I?"

Al examined the man for a moment, wondering why the man had bothered to pose the question since he was in no position to refuse, "If… that's not a bother to anyone?"

"Very good then, I'll return tomorrow to pick you up," giving Al a warm grin and a pat on the head, the man turning towards the door and exited swiftly past the five soldiers who saluted him as he left.

Al looked through the open door at the five faces he'd grown accustomed to seeing and the disapproving look upon the man whom he now knew as Mustang – the military commander his older brother had served under – seemed to be the most dominating of them all. Al caught his gaze once more before the officers retreated down the hall.

Suddenly throwing himself from the bed, Al's bare feet skidded along the floor as he scrambled out the door, "Sir!" swinging into the hallway, his hand griped onto the doorframe so strongly his knuckles turned white.

The five officers stopped and all turned back to him. The expressions of curiosity and wonder as they looked upon him, although diluted over time, still appeared in their eyes. Al found it to be an intimidating sensation.

Standing in the silence, Al searched his mind for something to say that didn't pose any harm, "That family you said you’d arranged for me… can you tell that family I'm sorry I can't stay with them?"

The corner of Havoc's sore mouth curled up in amusement as he popped a cigarette into his teeth. Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Broche turned away with a light smile and continued down the hallway.

"You should tell them that yourself. I'm sure she wouldn't mind a babysitter for her daughter one afternoon," Roy answered with a nonchalant tone as he turned with the remaining officers and walked towards the stairwell, "make sure you water those flowers in your room."

* * *

Ed's tired eyes watched the pendulum sway back and forth as the late night minutes ticked away. If he'd felt the urge to pick his head up off the table in his father's office, he would have done so, but that required more effort than he was willing to give just then. Momentarily glancing at the keys on Hohenheim's desk, Ed wondered if it was simply best to declare this night a loss as well. Motionlessly debating this idea as his eyes grew heavier, Ed’s attention was soon taken by a noise he could hear from beyond the office doors.

"Just because there's light on under the door, it doesn't mean anyone is in there…" a male voice argued.

"Why would someone waste electricity like that? Of course he's in there."

Edward's eyebrows rose at the second voice – a woman's voice – he recognized it from somewhere, but couldn't pinpoint it. He ran the short list of young women in his father's classes through his mind trying to put a face to it.

"It's eleven-thirty at night! We can come back in the morning. It's not that important."

"It's important to me, come on. It'll be quick."

"Just leave people in peace this time of night, my God!"

"Fine then, be a downer. Bugger off to bed, you can miss out."

The voice did not miss its cue to exit, "Good night, little girl," the footsteps of the man walking away could be heard.

"Good night, you useless man."

Ed lifted his head from the table and looked to the door, "… ’the hell?" his face twisted in confusion. He wondered if they realized that the whole floor could hear their childish bickering. Edward continued to listen until the footsteps became inaudible and he waited for the female voice to knock on the door. Obviously, she'd been talking about the office he was in because, as far as Ed knew, all the other professors had gone home for the night. So he waited, poised to get up and open the door, but a knock never came. The ticking of the wall clock began to echo again within the room. Finally Ed got up from his seat, curiosity getting the better of him. Straightening his shirt collar he walked to the door to look out. Pulling the door open, a unison scream was let out as both Edward and the woman who stumbled backwards – she’d had her nose pressed up to the door and Ed had nearly walking right into her.

"Oh my God, you scared me!" the young woman's voice echoed in the empty hallway.

Ed grabbed the barely open door and swung it wide, "What do you think-" stopping in mid-sentence his eyes grew wide, " _you_."

The woman brushed her curled brown hair from her face, "You…"

Ed curled up his nose in confusion, "What the hell are you doing here?"

The woman from the train station days earlier came into clear focus when she stepped up in the door way and put herself nose to nose with Ed, "Is it possible you weren't lying when you said Hohenheim was your father?"

Ed backed up, not liking his personal space being invaded like that, "Of course I wasn't lying!"

"Ohh…" though she'd stood at the door too nervous to knock on it, Ed suddenly became aware that she had no problem trampling all over him as she entered the room, "It's so pretty, just like I thought it would be. Oh! Someday we'll have an office like this too."

Edward spun on his heels to stop her from invading his father's office any further, "Just hang on, I didn't invite you in. What do you think you're doing?"

"I didn't think it would have crossed your mind to be nice enough to invite me in," she said with a huff, folding her arms, "what a shame, it seems professor Hohenheim isn't here."

"Obviously," Ed marched over to her.

The woman donned a very delightful grin and piped up again, "Will he be in tomorrow?"

"I'm not his secretary," Ed replied flatly, grabbing her at the upper arm, "can you leave? I'm busy."

"Is my presence not good enough for you? My word…" she jerked her arm away from Edwards grasp, "that's no way to treat a lady. You certainly have no idea how to behave like a gentleman."

"Get out," Edward replied flatly and in no mood to play this sort of game.

Finally showing signs of displeasure rather than the presumptuous demeanour, the intruder looked ready to slap him, "Learn to respect your elders and ask nicely. Your father's a very nice man from what I've heard, so what happened to you?"

Before Edward could explode, a voice interjected.

"Mathilde!"

Both Edward and the woman turned to the door at the man's call. Standing in the door was a finely dressed man in brown pants, white shirt and tie, his dark brown hair neatly slicked back, and at least a handful of years older than Ed. The angered expression the newly-appeared man displayed showed hints of embarrassment.

"What the hell is going on? The whole building can hear you! "

' _Oh shit…_ ' Ed glanced to the side, straightening his shirt.

"I thought you'd left?" she said with the roll of her eyes.

The man did not set foot in the room, instead continued his conversation from outside the open door, "Well I heard you screaming and came back upstairs, but here I find you acting like some spoilt little girl. Were you going to behave like this in front of Professor Hohenheim?"

Giving a dismissing wave of her hand, the exuberant woman brushed off his comments, "Of course not. Don't be stupid," she moved for a quick change of topic, "this is Edward Elric, by the way."

The displeasure suddenly wiped away from the man's face, "Oh, so you're Edward Elric? I've heard of you," finally he stepped into the room, an amused grin creeping across his expression while he reached out a hand for Ed to shake, "I heard you made a few senior graduates look like a bunch of fools last year without a day of classroom education."

As Edward scoffed at the comment, he could find no polite way to turn down the handshake he was unable to give with a semi-functional right hand, "It was their own fault. They dared me to take the post-grad placement exam with them, not my fault I got the highest mark."

"Well good for you, because there were some far too inflated egos there," he gave a light laugh at the thought, pulling his hand back slightly puzzled that Ed had not accepted his handshake.

Ed shrugged the comments off and looked between the two, "Your name was Mathilde, right?"

"Yes," she flashed a childish grin for Edward, "but _you_ can call me Tilly."

Edward's eyes began to narrow in thought.

"I'm sorry for the rude introductions Mr. Elric," the man gave his head a light shake, "this is my wife, Tilly Hummel. I'm-"

"Oberth!" Edwards's wide-eyed reaction finished the sentence.

A disconcerting expression crossed the man's face at Edward's recognition of his name.

* * *

 **To Be Continued…**

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running with the theory that the progress of time on the other side of the Gate is independent and moves faster than the Amestris side. When Ed was in London for episode 49 and 50, it was 1916, a year later than the year it was on the FMA side (1915). Time is going to move faster in Ed's part of the story at around a 3:1 day ratio.
> 
> Edited 2004-11-29, 2011-10-30, & 2012-01-21


	4. In Honour of a Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermann Oberth takes his new aquaintance, Edward Elric, out for drinks the night before Ed makes a rare appearance with his father at the Thule Hall. Alphonse begins to realize and deal with how many people around him he's unable to remember and finds himself at the Hughes household.

_I never expected to find him there, not after what happened. I came to the hospital as a government representative; it was horrible, the carnage left behind after yet another German attack. I happened to pass by the ward of beds where Edward lay… I'll never know what caught my attention. I stood at the foot of the bed and simply looked at him; his bangs were stuck to his damp forehead and his breathing didn't seem right. I knew what happened. The nurse had just changed the bandages, yet there were still places where he was encased in his own dry blood. I wondered how much he'd lost before being brought in, though I never asked. I finally sat down on the stool near the head of the bed. I can't remember how long I sat like that, but I think the nurses rotated shifts at least twice. I put my hand on his cheek from time to time, constantly alarmed at the fever he was running. It concerned me more than any of the staff. One of the younger girls was kind enough to leave me with a washbasin of cold water and hand cloth. I'd refold the cloth over on his forehead from time to time and wondered if he'd wake up again._

 _That was all I could do._

Sitting on the floor beneath the window of the Prime Minister's guest room, Al's gaze drifted through the room once more. The windbreaker given to him lay in a heap upon blue knit covers of the bed, the night stand next to it held a reading lamp, the oak dresser was over by the closet, and the curtains hanging around him matched the blue shade of the covers. It felt so empty; so much carpet and wall within the room – there was not enough substance.

Al wondered if he and the room could somehow understand each other.

He thought about his teacher once more. What could have happened to her? It had been days since Al had seen her. The longer he thought about the passage of time, the more it upset him. Izumi seemed indestructible; her wit, intuition, instincts, and ability to use alchemy without a circle would get her out of almost anything. He did not understand what could have happened to her and refused to accept many of the possibilities he'd heard discussed in the hospital.

Al reached into his pants pocket and he extracted the delivery receipt from the basket of garden flowers that once decorated his hospital room. Written in pencil was sender’s information: the name and telephone number. Al looked at the name again - it frightened him.

Gracia Hughes was a name he recognized quite clearly – Winry spoke very highly of her.

Al wanted to know, to see, to hear, to experience someone, anyone, whom he'd forgotten – and he did not know how to approach it. Furthermore, would anyone get upset if he did seek her out? Mrs. Hughes was not part of the military, yet Mustang had ties to her, but his family didn’t want him contacting the military. Looking at the note once more, he wondered what the Brigadier General could have told her.

"Alphonse?"

Having not heard the door swing open, he startled.

"Sorry, I know you're tired," Prime Minister Mitchell gave him a grin as he peeking into the room, "but did you want to have some lunch? I had some sandwiches made."

Swiftly tucking the receipt into his pocket, Al got to his feet, "Alright."

Following him into the hall, Al's eyes again drifted; the whole building was so clean. He'd been shocked to discover that a family like this did not take on an armada of maids to keep things tidy – yet the entire building was in pristine shape.

"You mentioned earlier about making a phone call?" the Prime Minister asked as they descended the winding staircase towards the kitchen.

Al's attention turned over to the man, "Could I actually…?" the words had slipped out; he felt an anxious shiver run through his skin.

Stepping off the stairs, the man turned back to Al with an encouraging smile, "The telephone is free to use if you wish to use it. You don't have to ask." He waited for Al to step off the stairs, "do you remember where it is?"

"Yes, sir," Al wondered if his nervousness was noticeable.

"Do that first then. Quiet your concerns, then we can eat," Mitchell motioned for Al to get going down the hall.

Hesitantly, Al turned towards the front doors where the telephone sat alone upon a table. The closer he got, the more he worried, and his steps slowed. Finally, standing in front of the contraption, Al stared at it as if to spite it for making him nervous. With a sharp inhale, Al snatched the receiver into his hand and dialed from memory the number he'd stared at all morning.

Disappointment began to sink into his heart as the phone rang without answer. The longer it went on, the more he thought of hanging up; the ringing began to echo in his head. After the deflating fifteenth ring, Al started to pull the phone away from his ear.

"Hi!"

Fumbling with the receiver in his hands, Al slammed it back to his ear, "Hello?"

"Hi!" the squeaky little voice greeted him again.

"Um… is your mom home?" Al made a perplexed face, not expecting to be holding a conversation with a little girl.

"Mummy's hanging flowers!" came the response.

The sugary voice made him giggle, "Can I talk to your mummy?"

"Yep! Okay."

Al heard the receiver clunk down upon what sounded like the echoing of tile flooring as the voice calling out 'Mummy' faded with the distance. The little voice distracted Al from his concerns as he tried to imagine what someone who sounded like that could look like.

"Hello?"

The voice froze Al; he did not respond right away having instantly forgotten anything he'd wanted to say. As the voice once again asked 'hello?', the fear of her hanging up finally struck him, "Hello…"

"Good afternoon. May I ask who's calling?"

Al was taken aback by the comfortable tone. Though the voice bore no resemblance, the voice had wrapped him up in a gentle warmth.

"Um, Alphonse… Curtis, ma'am."

"Oh! Alphonse. I'd heard you were feeling better. Thank you so much for calling me."

There was no hesitation, no pause, no hint of doubt, no concern to be found within the voice, and something about that made the crushing fear crumble away.

* * *

"Sorry, not interested in it."

Edward's face fell sharply, never having expected to hear that response, "You can't be serious?"

Hermann Oberth took the bottle of Rheingau Riesling from the table and topped up Edward's class once again, "Dead serious."

His chin resting in his hand, Edward stared utterly confused at his drinking partner, "Why not?" the conversation paused as he took a sip from his glass, "I thought the Goddard report was something you were looking for."

Taking the stem of the wineglass between his fingers, Oberth slouched back in the couch. He put one of his feet up on the table and gazed lazily around the lounge. The pale yellow lights flickered around them as someone's cigar smoke drifted by, "Right now, if I even acknowledge ever seeing that envelope, all my credibility is shot out the window. I can see every scientist in Europe and abroad accusing me of stealing that information; information I didn't even realize was in this country until twenty minutes ago."

Frowning, Ed scratched his head feverishly, "Where'd I get the idea you wanted it?"

Oberth gave a laugh at that, "I do want it, this is simply bad timing," the man's evening of drinking gave exuberance to his speech, "thanks for making me feel proud that I had a chance to 'cheat', and turned it down. I'm going to be a better man when all is said and done." He took a sharp sip of the wine, "When my documents are in print, then I'll request a copy from Goddard himself. If I suddenly have your copy, the American's will jump on the Anti-German bandwagon and I'd be labeled a fraud."

Edward fell back into the softness of the couch and tossed his lagging gaze to the ceiling, "Guess it goes back in the desk."

"No one knows you have that thing, right?" Oberth raised an eyebrow at Edward.

Holding his wineglass in similar fashion, Ed swirled the drink within around, "Just my dad." It sounded so simple as he said it.

"Great," Oberth dropped his foot from the table's edge, "hide it, burry it, loose it in your room… don't burn it, it's good stuff… but make it disappear. If you want to have anything to do with me, I want nothing to do with _THAT_ ," he pointed a sharp finger at the envelope on the table between them.

Ed gave a sideways grin, "Yeah, fine, I'll do something with it."

"Good man," sitting up again, Oberth placed the wine glass back down on the coffee table, "now you have to tell me. What the hell did you do to yourself?"

Edward raised an eyebrow in confusion, "Huh?"

Oberth shot him a mocking glare, "You said you weren't a soldier, so what the hell did you do to lose your arm and leg."

"Oh that" Ed raised his mechanical arm, "I tried to resurrect my mom with alchemy, the procedure backfired, and I lost my arm and leg," he glanced over to Oberth for a reaction; Edward's expression dawning a sly look to hide any remorse.

A long pause ensued as Oberth shot a crooked stare in Edward's direction, "If I had a gun, I'd shoot you between the eyes for that." Oberth reached out and threw a coaster at him as he began to laugh.

Blocking it with the metal arm, Ed just shook his head, "I was in London… it's been pretty much 5 years now," his expression sobered as he spoke, "I can't remember too much, but there was an air raid… and I didn't exactly come out unscathed." That was the story, he told it to everyone.

"That explains why your German is off sometimes; you're English," Oberth took another sip from his wine glass, "and then you and your dad concocted those crazy devices?"

Ed gave an affirmative nod, "Yeah, he actually used some political excuse to come out here after the Versailles treaty. We decided to stay after meeting a medical graduate. He gave us some initial help with the design for the arm. The guy laughed when I said I was going to lift it on my own. Something about it would be too difficult to get the arm to read the contractions of the flexors and extenders properly," he took another sip from his glass.

Existing within the chatter of the post-midnight lounge, Oberth continued to swirl his glass of crystal clear wine. Edward finished the last drop and placed the glass back upon the table. Forgetting his wine etiquette, Oberth gulped back what was left of his drink and put his glass down next to Edward's.

"That's just incredible," Oberth once again filled their glasses.

Ed sank into the chair with a groan, "You're going to make me sick…"

"You won't get sick. You don't drink often enough for your body to know what to do with this. Besides," Oberth picked up his glass once again and held it in the air, "you'll sleep like a rock when you pass out."

Following the man's lead, Edward retook his glass and sunk back into the couch. He propped a foot up on the coffee table between them, "I'll wake up and be sick after."

Oberth smirked as he swirled his drink, "Did you drink any milk earlier today?"

Tipping his head down from the 'sip' he just took, the look in Edward's eyes seemed to question the man's sanity, "No."

"Good, you won't get sick," Oberth gave him a wink for his participation.

* * *

"Alphonse?"

He startled suddenly, turning to look at the man sitting next to him within the back of the car.

"This is the correct address, is it not?" the Prime Minister looked carefully at Al, a hint of concern crossed his mind while they remained sitting in the automobile.

"It is…" Al's reply came slowly as he eyed the two-story house within the urban district of Amestris. His mind's eye tried to imagine memories of things that could have taken place here.

Stepping out of the car, Prime Minister Mitchell walked a path around the vehicle. With the wave of a hand instructed his driver to stop the engine and popped the door open on Alphonse's side for him. Peeking inside the car, he gave Al a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "You shouldn't be shy. She's a family friend after all?"

Al put his feet down into the dusty road and straightened up, "I haven't seen her since I was really little though. She probably doesn't remember what I… look like…" his voice trailed off at the sounding of a high pitched call.

"You came!" frizzy blonde pigtails bounced at the side of a pudgy round face and a set of little fingers flicked the latch on the gate - it swung wide open.

"Elysia!"

Al suddenly became distracted by the mother's voice over the approaching little girl and he looked up with enough time to see the young mother step out into the afternoon sunlight.

"I told you not to leave the yard without telling me…"

It was as if the words never existed, the little imp commanded Al's attention, "HI!"

Al knelt down in front of the little girl, "Hi Elysia…" he chewed his lower lip slightly, wondering what to say to her next. His heart raced as he spoke to this little child, "Didn't your mom say that you should be inside the yard?"

With a quick snap of motion, she grabbed Alphonse's right hand and gave him a tug, "You need to come into the yard too." Her grin marched ear to ear; Al couldn't help but giggle as he let her drag him along the red brick path back into the yard. Mitchell followed behind, trying to keep his amusement at the situation under some restraint.

Half bent over at Elysia's sudden attachment to him, Al's eyes looked up to Gracia as she stood perfectly composed upon her porch. Al felt a faint blush brush across his cheeks as he wished to return the smile she bestowed upon him.

"Alphonse," the lack of imperfections in her voice made his skin tingle again, "you've changed so much, I'm so glad you could come." Gracia stepped right into the game. Moving from the perch atop her castle stairs, she came up beside her daughter and Al. Gracia reached a warm arm around Alphonse's back and gave him a welcoming hug. The warmth he felt from her seemed all encompassing and had left him without a word to say. Her open expression never dissipated from one person to the next; she straightened herself and gave a light bow of her head, "Prime Minister Mitchell, thank you for taking the time…"

"Sebastian is fine, Mrs. Hughes. Please don't worry about the formality," he shook his head in dismissal.

Gracia brought her hand up, "Oh no, I couldn't-"

"Mummy!" Elysia piped up into the conversation, tugging on her mother's skirt, "can we have the tea now? Can I serve tea now?"

Gracia's smile broadened slightly as she tried to contain her amusement, "I'm sorry everyone, Elysia's been waiting all afternoon to serve tea. Please come inside and sit down," her eyes glanced down to Alphonse, "and I want to hear how you've been coping in Amestris thus far, I understand you’ve had quite the adventure."

Elysia’s hands released Alphonse from her clutches and she bounded up the stairs into the house. All Al could do was blink in amazement at her exuberant disappearance.

Gracia put a hand to the side of her head, "At least she had a nap earlier."

"She's beautiful, Mrs. Hughes," Mitchell stepped up next to Alphonse as the youngest Elric straightened himself.

"Thank you," her eyes drifted down to Al, "I've rearranged the house since you last came, but I'm sure if you went inside you could find your way to the living room.  Go on ahead," she gave Al a light pat of encouragement on his back, "both of you must come in and put your feet up for the afternoon."

With a light push, Mitchell gave the stalled boy his starting steps; Al staggered forward and up the few steps. He continued to digest his surroundings. Taking his shoes off at the door, Al momentarily glanced back before disappearing into the house.

"I don't think he remembers you too well," Mitchell's attention focused on Gracia.

"No, it seems not. But it's been over five years since I last saw him; children that age don't often remember a person they'd only met a few times," Gracia clasped her hands in front of herself, "won't you come inside?"

With the slight bow of his head, Mitchell stepped with Gracia towards her front door, "I hope you're not upset that I've insisted to have him remain with us," his eyes glanced back to her as he placed his shoes upon the rubber mat within the hallway.

Sliding her feet into a pair of slippers, Gracia shook her head, "No, it's safer for him to remain with you until Izumi is found. I certainly hope that isn't too long, her disappearance is disconcerting."

"Very much so," as he placed the hanger with his coat back into the closet, Mitchell glanced down the hallway, "which room did those two disappear into?"

"Second one on your right, go ahead," turning back to shut the door as the country's most important man entered her house, Gracia glanced out the door past the walls of her yard. The concern and nervousness deep within her began to bleed into her soft expression. Her eyes travelled slowly along the main street in front of the house; finally stepping back, she quietly pushed the door shut.

* * *

Placing his feet at the edge of the oversized and entirely dysfunctional transmutation circle etched into the cement, Edward stood looking up into the dome of what was once part of a different religion. There was little light beyond the hefty candles that lit the room, but he could still make out the mold that grew in out of some of the higher rock walling. The voices of men echoed around him and he figured they must be used to the musty, old water smell that existed here. After straightening the black robe draped over his shoulders, Ed folded his arms and simply looked up into the archways of pale moonlight.

He waited.

"Edward."

He turned at the call of his name, "Professor Haushofer."

The director of the Munich Institute of Geopolitics, Karl Haushofer, placed his hand upon Edward's shoulder, "Your father told me to expect to see you tonight, I'm glad you made it."

"I was told tonight was something everyone must attend," Ed’s voice so out of character from what the rest of the world was accustom to hearing - devoid of so much life. Since this underground world had begun to expand, Ed had found that the best way to deal with the Thule Society was to simply become cold for the evening. He'd erect an emotionless wall around himself and try to survive the night; it was how he coped with most of this world, but this place was special.  These people gave him a feeling like nothing he could relate to. Back home, though there was war, there was still the essence of compassion between mankind as a whole; even a soldier who killed others under orders still suffered from his conscience. Yet, in this world, Ed could sit in that smoky lounge and listen to the conversations of men brag about how many French soldiers they’d once killed. Edward could sit in this room with some of the brightest men, professors and philosophers and hear them discuss how many Jewish men needed to be eradicated, as if by murdering someone they didn't know it made everyone better off. He was disgusted – life was just some sort of game.  It had so little value. He did not understand the type of deep-rooted hatred and complete disrespect for life that spawned from religious beliefs and historical background. Alchemists did not care for religion; they concerned themselves with understanding life – the first clause in alchemy was 'understanding'. Understanding of the world was in total reverse here.

Edward did understand, to some extent, the suffering that lead to the extreme ways of thinking he found himself floating around in. Since he'd arrived in Germany he'd done nothing but witness the dismantling and collapse of their society and way of life, begrudgingly at the mercy of the victorious Allies. Though, having lived in London, he could see the other side of the coin – still, Ed did not believe that extent of punishment Germany was suffering through at the hands of the victorious Entente was entirely warranted. The German government was blamed for being submissive to the rest of the world and this country became the plaything of the world's wrath. From the country's pain, poverty and sense of loss, he and his father watched a new breed of mankind rise from the ruins - the kind that sought after redemption through extermination. The people turned their misery and aggression against the government, the world, and ultimately ethnicities of the people within it - employed by it, surrounding it, supporting it, criticizing it, and quite often having nothing to do with it. A thousand-man scapegoat had been created. Being unable to comprehend what could ultimately be gained from behaving this way, the younger Elric decided it seemed safer to believe in nothing.

From all his observations, Edward developed an increasing awareness of the reasons alchemy did not function beyond the Gate; it would be too easy to create the Philosopher's Stone in this world of death, and then these civilizations would proceed wipe each other out.

Professor Haushofer, who somehow managed to carry a warm father's aura, smiled to Edward, "Your father, Albrecht, Dietrich and myself are over there, you're welcome to join us."

Having been told to never refuse a social offering in the presence of these men, Edward nodded and followed the man over towards the gathering.

"Edward!" Albrecht's voice rang out.

He nearly gave into the temptation to roll his eyes, "Hey, Hoffie."

"Hoffie?" The rounder gentleman standing next to Hohenheim laughed, "I should use that someday for you."

As the young Haushofer pleaded for that to never happen, Edward's eyes examined the balding middle-aged man next to his father. As the man's belly laughed heartily at Albrecht once more, the noise of the few men around him silenced.

"I don't think we've been formally introduced."

Edward wondered if anyone could see the look of displeasure that manifested itself behind his eyes, "My apologies." Though he'd been unwilling to shake Oberth's hand a few nights ago, he knew Dietrich Eckart was aware of his arm; the two shook hands.

"Young man, every time I see you, I think you look like your father," the outspoken Eckart grabbed Edward by his chin with a playful voice, "can't you smile boy?"

"Don't mind him," Hohenheim piped up with a grin; somewhere deep in the back of his mind he wondered if this would be Edward's saving grace today, “he’s hung over.”

"HEY!" Edward's voice sounded sharply, still a tad bit embarrassed. He'd slept until 3 that afternoon; his father had spent most of the later part of the day feeding him coffee & a few crackers. The elder Elric had taken a liking to teasing his displeased son about it all afternoon after finding him passed out at the front door, his keys in the doorknob.

Edward flinched as Eckart gave his cheek a playful slap, "Ah, I hope you had fun," the man with a hearty disposition grinned from ear to ear, "next time you go out, drink something for me. I can't drink enough to regret it anymore."

Edward's eyes frowned at the circle of men around him who laughed once more.

The subject matter again changed in the blink of an eye. Though nothing was said immediately, Edward instantly felt the chill Eckart's gaze gave off; the man could make the walls quiver, "That boy is nearly a half hour late. People are getting impatient."

"He said he was doing something special for the announcements tonight," Albrecht gave a slight nod of his head, remembering the filtered information he had been given.

"I know what Hess is up to, Adolf told me. I just wish the boy wouldn't keep us waiting so long; he might not get to host another night if he makes the wrong people upset," Eckart slowly turned his narrowed gaze upon the rest of the congregation socializing in the candle light.

Haushofer glanced over to Hohenheim who gave his usual drinking companion a light shrug.

"He's your student," Hohenheim smirked.

Haushofer rolled his eyes at the statement, "I suppose I'll have to fail him next time for making us look bad."

Grinning at the reply, Hohenheim glanced over to Edward; much to his chagrin he caught the 'are we done yet?' expression woven into his son's face. Trying to dismiss the childish behaviour Hohenheim began to re-enter the conversation.

An echo of a female voice filtered into the room; Hohenheim hadn't been able to speak a word before the room fell into a perplexed hush. The main doors to the room crept open slowly while the charismatic voice of Rudolf Hess rang out within the walls, "My apologies gentlemen for my tardiness, I was on a journey." The man remained engulfed within the darkness of the doorway; a light whiff of smoke filled the room from the candles that had blown out at the door's opening.

Edward's eyes trained upon the entrance way, he could barely make out the figures attached to the sounds he was hearing. The faint cries he'd heard moments before had been silenced. Edward took a curious few steps forward to obtain a better view of the situation. He stopped as he felt Eckart's hand land firmly upon the metal covering his right shoulder. Edward's attention cautiously drifted from Hess's voice, he gazed up into the unforgiving eyes of Dietrich Eckart. The alarm that sounded within his mind rang violently as he watched the corner of the man's lips curl with pleasure.

"Make sure you pay attention boy,” Eckart whispered, “this is the main event."

* * *

"And this is what Mummy bought me for my birthday!" Elysia draped her arms over the handle bars of the pink little bicycle, the tinsel talons fluttered in the light breeze, "Mummy says that I can take the training wheels off when my feet touch the ground," hopping up onto the seat, Elysia pointed her feet within the tiny shoes as hard as she could; her tip toes barely missed skimming the shot cut grass.

Al sat out in the backyard, he laughed at all the effort she was putting into it, "Don't worry! You have lots of time to grow up, you'll get there eventually." He glanced back around the yard again, his eyes marvelling at the time and effort Gracia must have put into the area.  Crossing his legs upon the grass, Al leaned back upon his elbows and soaked up what was left of the afternoon's sun. Elysia wiggled herself off the bicycle and toddled her way over, plunking herself down in his lap. With Alphonse's wide eyed gaze looking at her; the little girl patted his kneecap with the palms of her hands as she stared up at the clouds.

With a widening grin and hints of confusion floating around his head, Al reached over and flicked one of her pigtails, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing," Elysia gave a vigorous shake to her head before turning her wide grin upon him, "nothing!"

Al found himself starting to laugh at her - there seemed to be nothing more contagious than the child's smile.

At the living room window, sheer white curtains draping across the frames, Gracia looked out into the yard; her houseguest, Sebastian Mitchell, sat at the dinette sipping the strawberry tea Elysia insisted on having.

"I have to admit, I had apprehensions about coming out here earlier. Alphonse wasn't been feeling good; he was quiet all morning," Mitchell placed his teacup down upon the table, "but the little lady seems to have cheered him right up."

"He has some dark scabs on his cheek," Gracia put her fingertips upon her cheek, "they've always been brave boys…"

"Pardon?"

Gracia startled, her fingers flustering slightly before she clasped them in front of herself, "Nothing, just that boys are always getting themselves into situations; getting roughed up."

Mitchell stood up from the table and walked over to the window, "I can vouch for that," a smirk crossed his face, "even so, there's something nice about daughters. My wife can't have children, so we were looking into adopting another girl. Originally we wanted an older daughter, but we fell in love with the baby we have now. The last month or so my wife's been dealing with a gentleman in regards to a seven-year-old girl, possibly eight, I can't remember off hand. I haven't had much to do with it, she insisted on looking after it herself since she thought I wouldn't have time in my schedule to look after a bit extra paperwork," he gave a light laugh, "I wish she wouldn't worry so much about me and my job."

"I'm certain she means well," Gracia reached up and pushed the fine drapery aside to let the sunlight filter into the room, "I heard she's been quite sick on and off… I hope everything's been going well for her lately."

The man's expression fell and he gave the back of his neck a scratch, "It's an ugly disease, whatever it is. She's had it for a while; medicine helps sometimes but some days she doesn't do so well. It ate the flesh off her left forearm before I met her; it was amputated at the elbow. Some days the doctors run the idea of amputating her leg in order to relieve the pain down there; she wants nothing to do with that. She's convinced she can recover from it; I think so too, she's a strong woman."

Gracia turned away and began to clean the biscuit plates and teacups from the table, "I hope everything works out for you two."

"Thank you…" his voice trailed off in thought.

Gracia placed the dished down at her sink and glanced back at the man as he folded his arms, "Is something wrong?"

"Very interesting," he turned to look back at Gracia, "we should go outside."

Upon the cement path within the yard, Al had helped himself to Elysia's chalk. He carefully finished a simple circle upon the ground, "There, that's good."

Elysia's eyes widened; her hands gripped around a bundle of flowers, "What's that?!"

"It's called a Transmutation Circle. It's a charm that makes wishes come true," upon his hands and knees Al glanced up with a warm smile for the amazed little girl, "put your flowers in the middle of it."

"Okay!" with a flash of excitement, Elysia scattered her bouquet over the circle.

Flicking the stem of a lingering flower into the confines of the circle, without missing a beat he put his hands at the outer ring of the circle. At the sudden glow the activated circle gave off, Elysia's eyes widened as a high-pitched squeal came from her. When all was said and done, Al picked the bouquet crown off the ground and placed it upon Elysia's head.

"I crown you Princess!"

Her hands clapped together with delight, she ran in her mother's direction as the back door opened, "Mummy look! Lookit what Al made for me!"

As Gracia entertained her daughter's delight, Mitchell stepped past them. Placing his hands on his hips the man gave a grin to Alphonse, "I didn't know you studied alchemy?"

Slightly embarrassed, Al rubbed the back of his head, "I studied it somewhat, read some books… my mother and I were headed somewhere to see if we could learn more."

Mitchell placed a hand upon Al's shoulder, "When we go back to my house, I'll show you my library. My wife and I have amassed quite the collection of alchemy books; they're yours to look through at your leisure."

"Really?" Al's attention was heightened by the prospect; he gave the man the most delighted expression he'd entertained anyone with today, "thank you so much. I didn't know you knew alchemy."

"Oh when I was younger I was far better at it. I grew up and became better at politics than I could ever get at alchemy," Mitchell turned his attention down suddenly as Elysia's little hands had a grip on the end of the suit jacket he wore.

"You can make these too?!" her eyes wide with amazement.

Mitchell knelt down to face the little girl eye to eye, "I'm sure I could if I tried hard enough. Did you want me to make you something too?"

"Elysia, don't inconvenience the gentleman," the forceful tone of a mother's 'don't do that' voice accidentally grabbed Al's attention as well.

"It's fine Ms. Hughes. I don't mind, I'll make your daughter something before we leave," he put his hand upon Elysia's head and pinched her cheek with the other, "how about I make you something after I've had a good meal to eat. I'll feel a whole lot better then."

The little girl's smile ran ear-to-ear, "Okay!"

* * *

"Here, bran muffins are good for you."

Edward looked up from the pages his eyes scanned over, "Thanks."

Tilly crouched down in front of the table he sat at. She folded her arms at the edge and rested her head there, "Didn't you even eat dinner yesterday?"

Popping the top off the muffin Edward bit into the bottom, "I didn't eat anything yesterday, I didn't feel good."

"And you haven't had a wink of sleep since then!" With that, Tilly startled Edward by standing up abruptly, "Hermann! I told you that you made him sick."

Oberth glanced over to his noisy wife; the disinterest in her comment was quite apparent.

"No, no, that's not what I meant…" Edward gave a nervous frown as he watched her huff his statement away. He turned back and looked at the convoluted works laid out before him. He'd hoped that going to see Oberth would help him understand Goddard's theories better, but it wasn't panning out that way. With what he could understand, Ed wished he could simply clap his hands and play with it. He modified the idea of aircraft propulsion within his mind; he could create an alchemical reaction of the air around himself and now understood how he could disrupt the airflow of the rest of the room with so much force that it would lift the ceiling off an enclosed building. He could also see how his alchemy could make this task of launching a rocket into space so easy to accomplish. Edward could send it to the moon if he had the ability here to do so. So many different aspects of science had evolved on this end.

He gave a wonder to what Al's expression would be if he had some simple rocket and sent it to the moon at the clap of his hands; it made him laugh.

"What's so funny?" Tilly turned sharply to face him, her playful frown looking down upon him.

"Nothing," Ed shook his head; she'd never understand. Again he looked back at the notes. Though there was so much potential with the information, so much of it was simply theories; theories that could take decades to implement, master, fund, finish. He'd be in his 50's by the time he got anywhere. As if the black hole burned into his heart from the night before didn't hurt enough, the thought of putting up with 30 more years of tinkering, testing, trying, theorizing simply did not sit well in any respect. Ed did not want to spend any more of his life here. His resolve to return home had fortified and it had kept him up all night as he studied Oberth's notes within the dormitory lounge. There had to be some way he could apply this knowledge. Could breaking the sound or light barrier help him? The last thing he wanted to do was ask Einstein… the guy was such a hack. Could the fuel be used to propel him forward rather than launch him upward? The hope that this information could help him kept becoming more dilute every time he thought of a new potential application.

His hand slammed down on the desktop; his hand crumpled up the bits of notes he'd written up and he threw the piece of paper across the room, "This is impossible!"

Oberth lifted himself from his work and swung another chair around next to Edward who had his face in his hands; a dark cloud over his head. "What are you stuck on?" Oberth tried to organize the mess of papers Ed had before himself.

"Nothing in particular," Ed grumbled as he moved his coffee cup aside, "it's just… so much theory, not much practical work."

Oberth raised an eyebrow at his younger associate, "Well… yeah, it is. Methodologies, theories, terminologies. I need to prove my case before anyone will give me funding. Do you have any idea how much money it would cost to get this stuff assembled let alone tested?" he gave Edward a swat upside the head, "don't be so impatient, we have a ton of years left ahead of us. It'll be gratifying when it's said and done with."

The miserable look re-crossed Edward's face, "If only I could transmute something into a rocket ship…" from the back of the room, he was suddenly pegged in the face with his trashed piece of paper.

"Alchemy is like witchcraft you idiot," Tilly folded her arms as she came back to his desk, "it's all fiction."

Oberth took off his reading glasses and onto Edward's desk, "Radioactivity has something to do with alchemy. Something about spontaneous transmutations… I heard about it from someone chemistry student a while back."

Ed's unimpressed expression scoffed at the whole scenario, "Alchemy as it should be, is nothing like what's attainable. You need understanding, decomposition and reconstruction. Radioactivity skips the understanding and heads straight to decomposition and attempts reconstruction; that's why it's spontaneous and dangerous. Alchemical understanding is way beyond the psyche of anyone here."

Oberth raised an eyebrow while Tilly reached over the desk and bopped him again with the adventurous piece of crumpled paper, "You're going to be hunted down by bands of gypsies and be burnt at the stake."

Edward laughed at that; his arm reached out and he snagged up the paper ball before he could get hit with it again, "It's not possible anyways, so what does it matter?"

"That's right," Oberth stood up and put himself back down at the desk adjacent to Edward, "what matters right now is that we make sure my theories are clean and flaw free."

Edward looked over to the senior man in the room, "So, what happens if I want to fly into space right now?"

Without lifting his head from his work, Oberth smirked as he jotted on his papers, "You go to bed and dream about doing so. I'd re-evaluate your mental state after that if you still thought it somehow possible in the next 5 years."

"Or you could stop drinking coffee, that'd bring you down to earth," amidst Edward's swatting hand, Tilly removed the coffee cup from his desk.

* * *

Al turned in his seat as he watched Elysia lead Mr. Mitchell out into the back yard once more; her squeaky little voice bouncing off all the walls. He glanced over his shoulder to examine the scene through the drapery, but Gracia stole his attention. He watched as she organized the leftover food into bowls and plates; everything seemed to have a place and she marked her actions with precision. _'Were all mom's able to do that?'_ Al wondered. He fidgeted in his seat uneasily. Finally with the clench of his fists, he stood up and walked over to the sink.

"I can help," his wide-eyed nerves looked up at her.

Gracia glanced over to Al; an unintentional expression of surprise crossed her eyes. Al felt a tingle of embarrassment run down his spine; he quickly glanced away. Shaking the feeling away, Gracia's demeanor returned and she took the dishcloth sitting on the counter and placed it in front of Al.

"Only if you want."

From the corner of his sheepish eye Al looked back up at her, his hand taking up the damp cloth, "I don't mind."

Letting the water run luke warm as he wiped off the dishes; Al followed the instructions Gracia pointed out on where each cup, dish, bowl and utensil went in her cupboards. Al found that she was inclined to ask him 'can you reach that?' which he received many apologies for; whenever Elysia helped there was so much she was too tiny for. Reaching back into the running water for more utensils, Al flinched and quickly took a few steps back; with a sour face, he popped his finger into his mouth.

Drying her hands quickly, Gracia turned around to Al. As she bent over, her hand popped his finger from his mouth, "Don't put it in your mouth if you cut it." Turning Al's hand over, she looked at where his finger had been slit by the knife. Taking a napkin from the table, she wrapped his finger in it, "that's deep. You have enough cuts and scrapes as it is. Let's go upstairs, I'll get a bandage for it."

Not given an opportunity to protest, Al was hand held up the stairs and he no longer concerned himself with the skiff of red blush that ran across his cheeks. He remained standing in the hallway while Gracia fished around in the cabinet for a bandage wrap. Al turned himself around slowly, his curious eyes examining the upstairs floor. He gazed through the railing back downstairs; the early evening light left the hallway with an orange tint. His eyes shifted down the hall – taking a step back, Al could see inside Elysia's room. The light patterns scattered on the toy-littered floor came from glass window ornaments that hung in her window. He turned his attention down to the other end of the hall, a study room. Al took a half step aside attempting to steal a peek and his eye caught the navy military cap sitting upon the desk.

"This will have to do. Elysia must have run off with my box of band aids again," Gracia tucked her olive skirt beneath her knees as she knelt down before Al. Tearing a tissue in half, she folded it over twice before placing it on the soft tip of his index left finger. From the roll of bandage gauze, she snipped off a strip and wrapped it around the end of his finger – tucking the end away so it would not come loose.

"How's that?"

Al marveled at his finger, "Thank you," his quiet voice came out as his eyes curiously darted back down the hall for a moment.

Catching his glance, Gracia followed his momentary line of sight down the hall, "Did you want to have a look?"

Though he should have insisted 'no', the stronger curiosity insisted 'yes' – Al stood silent and indecisive. Gracia rose to her feet and returned the items to their place in the washroom cabinet. Once again in the hall, she took up Al's hand and led him down the hallway. Stepping into the room, Gracia walked silently across the hardwood floor; brushing the dress smooth beneath her, she sat down at the desk. Al stood next to her, his hands holding onto the top knob of the chair leg while his eyes scanned the room. The study desk graced the center wall of the room and behind them next to the window was a half stuffed bookcase. Al's eyes caught the coat rack in the corner, a slightly dusty black jacket was hung from the highest notch and draped over whatever other items hung there. His attention turned back to Gracia as the hat he'd eyed earlier landed upon his head.  The tips of her fingers touched the brim. With a faint smile Gracia removed it from his head and placed it perfectly back down where it rested before.

Al's eyes scanned the desk… there were photographs on the desk. His eyes focused on the family photo that centered everything. He eyed the tall grinning man that accompanied Gracia and Elysia.

"His name was Maes. He was my husband," Gracia's somber words filled the room, "there's a lot about him I miss… it's been just over a year now since he passed away."

Al's eyes trained on the picture, trying to extract the personality he could see within the image, and put it to the personality Winry had told him about.

"He died doing his job. It's a shame so many of the things he wanted to see happen in his lifetime probably will never happen," Gracia glanced over to the photograph of her husband and Mustang. Al's eyes followed hers and then widened as he recognized the face of the man he'd seen within the hospital.

"He loved to have photographs of everything," at that Gracia stood up from the seat. As she walked over to the bookcase, Al's eyes shifted to the third picture on the desk and he again was able to associate a few of the faces from the group military photo with people he'd seen in the hospital.

"I think this is it," Gracia slid an album out from the bookcase and sat back down in the chair. Al turned his head a little bit to peer closer at the photographs; Gracia opened the album to the middle page.

"These were taken just after Elysia was born," Gracia slowly ran her finger over the four image spread of her late husband and newborn daughter. The face that grinned so foolishly at Al within the images could only make him smile.

"He seems like fun," Al replied quietly as he leaned against the side of the chair.

"He was," Gracia's left fingers slipped into a few pages back and she flipped the album into the past, "and these were taken at your brother's birthday party."

From the corner of her eye, Gracia looked to Al. She wasn't sure if his expression was that of fear, or that of wonder, or perhaps a combination of them both. But she recognized the underlying meaning to the expression upon his face - Gracia saw a similar look in her daughter's eyes every time a new story of the child's father found its way to her.

Al's dilated eyes stared into the four images upon that page and he’d known instantly which one was him, but he felt no association to it; it looked nothing like him and that was so bizarre. Yet, the images were so real, so full of life, and Al wished he could touch them and experience what had gone on. He looked into the eyes of his older brother, a year older than he last remembered, his hair long, pulled back, braided… Al wondered when he got that unfamiliar red jacket.

Before Al's eyes was something he could finally touch about this missing world.

"I remember Edward mentioned that now he'd get to be a year older than you again; because now he would be twelve and you'd still be eleven for nearly the rest of the year," the back of Gracia's hand came to rest upon Al's cheek, "This was five years ago Al, but today when you came into my house once more you were still eleven."

With the chair as a crutch, Al slowly came to stand on his knees next to the seated Gracia, his eyes never glancing away from the album. He tried to recreate stories in his mind of what could be going on, what could have been said, what they were laughing at, who that little girl was with them…

"Al," Gracia asked for his attention and slowly received it. The voice never elevated, never coarsened; it simply stroked its way through him, "do you enjoy living in a story? The story of this 'mother', the story you have made for you, and with me? The story you'll create of these pictures?" Gracia shut the album slowly and placed it upon the desk. Al slumped off his knees and sat upon the ground, his distant gaze traced the lines within the hardwood floor. Gracia slid off the chair and sat down beside him. Her hand gave his downy soft hair a brush out of his face as the silence lingered on; the hue within the room had become saturated in orange from the evening light. Their shadows stretched long across the room.

Though he finally tried, Gracia did not let Al curl up into his little world of seclusion. Taking him by the wrist, she got to her feet, pulling him up as well. Re-opening the photo album, Gracia slipped one of the photos out from within and wrapped it in an envelope taken from the desk drawer.

"When you feel you can, I want you to come back here and tell me the other story of you. Tell me the story of today's eleven-year-old Alphonse Elric and not the other Curtis boy. In return, I'll tell you the story of this picture, and anything from any other picture you want to know about. I don't think you want to disservice any of their memories," bending down, Gracia placed the wrapped photograph in Al's hands, "Maes said you boys believed in 'Equivalent Exchange'. Does this qualify?"

* * *

The gentle glass upon glass sound that was made when Hohenheim placed his drink down in the saucer was not loud enough to even echo within the room. The fireplace in the other room gave a loud crackling sound to make up for it. The elder Elric glanced over his shoulder, unable to relieve the stiffness within his body. Re-buttoning the top of his dress shirt, Hohenheim looked to the entrance of his study’s solitude; had he just heard the sound of the front door closing? The deep chimes of the pendulum clock reminded him that it was now two in the morning. The stumbling of feet that echoed this late at night within the hallway confirmed his suspicions.

Pushing away from his resting place, Hohenheim slowly stepped out of his study, "… Edward?" even his gentle questioning voice bore a profound strength.

Edward did not answer as he hung up his coat at the end of the hallway.

"Where have you been?" Hohenheim wondered if he had the right to be angry with his son for this stunt. He recognized the reasons behind Edwards's deliberate ignorance of his voice and presence; regardless, the continued silence grew increasingly frustrating.

"Edward." His voice grew demanding and Hohenheim chose to approach.

Having already kicked off his shoes, Edward took a swift path in an opposite direction within the house; he shoved his hands into his pocket.

His steps suddenly a slightly bit faster, Hohenheim reached out and grabbed Edward under the arm, "EDWARD."

Ed jerked his arm up and swung a backhanded fist of his good left arm at his father who was able to back out of the way. "Screw off!" his cold voice echoed as he turned to walk away from him once more.

Hohenheim stood in the middle of the hall, allowing Ed to walk away.  The older man could not hide the disheartened feeling, nor the feeling of guild he placed upon himself when Edward had not returned home the night before. He'd hoped his son's disappearance for a day and a half would have given him time to cool down.

The event the Thule Society had held the days before had been hosted by one of his closest associate’s star pupils, Rudolf Hess. Edward had spoken to him a few times, he'd even been impressed by the man's desire to help change what the world had done to Germany. He liked a man who was willing to stand on a platform with his own two feet, but even at that, there was still much he distrusted about Hess. There was something Ed distrusted about everyone.  He’d chosen to turn a blind eye to many things about so many people here, especially the general hatred towards groups of people; he’d said he could not remain sane if he’d concerned himself with those kind of deep rooted, rotten emotions.

And then Hess shattered whatever container Ed protected himself from society with; standing before the congregation the man started the evening by executing Rathenau's young Jewish secretary and her two children as they begged for their lives.

"God does not pity you," his cruel voice rang out.

The platform Hess and his closest comrades stood upon was comprised of dead bodies.

And Edward stood there drowning in their cold blooded hate as everyone gave approval of Hess’ actions.

He stood there as everyone agreed what had to be removed from society in order for German society to prosper.

He stood there as everyone applauded the assassination of Matthias Erzberger over a week ago.

He stood there as everyone seemed to believe that what they wanted to accomplish within society was right.

He stood there and listened, to everyone, preach at the rise of an empire through the exploitation and extermination of another.

He stood there and realized he could do nothing to change this.

Hohenheim did not let Edward turn away. He'd placed his hand at the back of his son's neck and held him in place. Edward would glace up to his father from time to time, wondering if there was any remorse behind his expression.

Most appalling for Edward was that Hess had acted with the advice of another, someone higher than the man himself who pulled the strings of the people within. Hess asked the congregation, who were all members of the NSDAP as well, for their support as they pushed for this man to become the next Fuhrer. The room applauded.

The speech given last April suddenly had additions to its agenda… and visual aid.

Whatever darkness brewing within Edward's consciousness fed off his disgust for the evening, for the people he was with, for so much of society as a whole. He could see bits and pieces of the traits he hated most in so many people throughout any given day; suddenly it was all in a room for him to watch with his father.

And now, Hohenheim stood behind his son again as Edward sat silently upon the back porch of the house. The elder Elric apologized for the previous day.

"You're disgusting," Edward's voice shot out without waver, "I can't believe you support people like that."

"Did I ever say I supported any of this?"

Hohenheim's remorseful voice irritated Edward, "Then what the hell do you do with them? Why do you listen to them? Why do you involve ME? Those people have nothing to do with me and what I need to accomplish," he never turned around to face his father; he simply spouted off into the night.

"I have my reasons," was as vague as an answer he could give, "but even if I wanted to leave, I could not. It's the same reason I could not let you leave the other night."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Edward's bangs shrouded his face.

"Edward, this is not something I can turn my back on. If you had walked away, someone would have shot you before sunrise."

Hohenheim watched Edward as his head slowly dropped forward. The concern was etched into every word he'd spoken; his face stiffened up, "I wouldn't have asked you to come if I'd known-"

"I want to go home."

The conversation came to an end. The life deflated from the eldest Elric as a helpless feeling bore down on him. There could never been enough he could do to convince Edward to exist properly within this society.

"I hate being here. I hate living in fear of my own morals. I hate how the type of person I socialize with suddenly makes me friend or foe. I hate pretending I hate something just so I can survive," his quiet voice of discontent could never accurately describe how he felt. Facing into the darkness, Ed rose to his feet. Hohenheim wondered if he should speak up in some way. Edward slowly lifted his arms at his sides. He turned his palms forward and slapped his hands together across his chest in honour of a memory, "I hate how tasteless everything is here. I hate how I'm never full after I eat, how nothing has any colour, how I don't dream at night, how I-," he abruptly stopped his rant. The pause lingered in the cold air before Edward breathed it all back in. He finally stepped up the few stairs upon the porch near where his father stood. Avoiding eye contact with the man, Edward his lifted his left hand to the sky, "I want the stars to get brighter if I get closer to them."

Nothing was said; Edward listened as his father opened the doors and stepped back inside the building. His hand dropped limp at his side as he stood there, eyes shut, listening for the world to show some sign of life. The only thing he could hear was the cat in a garbage can down the street. It was a wretched silence.

Ed startled from the moment; his father put a coat over his shoulders.

"It's cold out," Hohenheim's voice said quietly.

"I'm not cold," Edward's shoulders loosened as he pulled the jacket around himself.

"Don't let that change. Come inside, you need some sleep."

Edward turned and he looked upwards to his father in the doorway. Though unintentional, he let the man see the exhaustion within his eyes brought on by playing society's game for a day and a half. The inability to do anything to help anyone but himself bore heavily upon his pale expression; too tired to bark at the figure standing in his way. In mirror, his father's downcast expression looked back at his son… wondering. It was a move made with caution; Hohenheim reached a concerned hand out and, within the age-old palm, cradled his son's evening-chilled cheek. The time it took Edward to react allowed Hohenheim the chance to confirm the existence of whatever pain existed there. And though Edward finally stepped back to avoid inevitable discovery, Hohenheim took a step that frightened him far more than the evening before; a pair of strong arms reached around and pulled in his sleepless son. He found it unnerving to discover the only thing left un-surrendered was the deliberate control over Edward's own breathing. Within the lifeless silence of the Munich night, Hohenheim wondered how long he'd be allowed to hold his son.

Edward's forehead dropped softly into the man's broad shoulder; exhaustion was overpowering, "I'm going home. I'll find a way." Unwavering determination manifested itself deep within his soul, even at his weakest.

"I hate how this place makes me feel."

* * *

 **To Be Continued...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I’d started writing this, Hohenheim wasn’t ‘Van Hohenheim’ yet, so the general consensus was that he was Hohenheim Elric or something to the like (Hohenheim-Elric… with ambiguous first name?) I even think there was a letter shown early on in FMA1 addressed to Hohenheim Elric. So, that’s where the naming convention is coming from.
> 
> I'm going to run with the idea that Hohenheim joined the Thule Society before 1921. I doubt he would have gotten involved with it at the point it was at in 1921. In this story I'll say that he's been in the Thule Society since about mid 1919 - before Hess joined.
> 
> A few references:
> 
> A 1921 bottle of Rheingau Riesling will cost you $10,000 dollars now.
> 
> Rudolph Hess was the 16th member of the Thule Society (June 1920)
> 
> NSDAP – National Socialist German Worker Party.
> 
> Matthias Erzberger – former German Finance Minister during WWI murdered by members of the Freikorps (August 26, 1921.)
> 
> Walter Rathenau – German Minister of Reconstruction (1921)


	5. Media of Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy and Havoc's suspicions buttons are hit regarding Alphonse when Winry arrives in Central to meet with Sheska. Ed finds a bizarre reference to his side of the Gate thanks to Oberth and heads out on a tear to find out what it's implications are.

_"My head went blank the first time I saw her. Her hair was so thick and long, her eyes, her face… her body. It was Winry but it wasn't; it couldn't be. It was her voice - only it was missing the tone making her the same age as me. I thought maybe I'd fallen asleep or, stranger yet, stepped to the other side of the looking glass. She hugged me and cried. I should have cried with her but some part of me told me it wasn't real. She smelt real… smelt the same. She had the same warmth, but it felt funny to hug her. We sat on her bed for the rest of the afternoon - she kept fluffing my hair. She talked to me about stuff I couldn't even imagine. It's too much to get into. But with every word she said for the next few weeks, it felt like the gap between the Winry I remembered and the Winry I'd get to know grew greater and greater. At first, it felt as though I'd lost a best friend. I felt alienated from her like that for weeks, months. Sensei finally asked me if something was wrong and I’d told her it was awkward. She told me that I shouldn't think about it like I'd lost a friend, but instead, like I'd gained an older sister."_

_  
_

**Chapter 56 - Media of Suspicion**

**  
**

It was far too early to be going in to work.

It was far too early any morning to go in for 7:30AM, but there was never any choice. And she greeted every officer as he or she walked in, wished them well on their morning, and continued to sort through the mountain of papers that never ceased to pile up on her desk. It wasn't all that interesting either: court orders, interrogation logs, criminal records, and yet somehow duty rosters found their way into the piles from time to time. The sun would find its way into her office at around 10:30 when it would come around the front of the complex. It would last until sometime after 6pm, or whenever she chose to go home, whichever happened first. And it was about that time when the sun began to shine a strip on the wall that a sergeant whose name she'd never asked for, but had seen all the time, wandered into her office space.

"Ma'am?"

Sheska adjusted her glasses, "Yes?"

The young officer placed a telegram slip down upon her desk, "This came in for you a few minutes ago."

"Oh? Thank you," Sheska picked up the paper as the officer exited the room. Her eyes scanned the notice over once; without a second glance, she promptly folded it twice and tucked it into her chest pocket. Finding herself nervously drumming her fingers on the desk, Sheska worried over her next few steps. Though it served no purpose, she looked left and right sharply before abruptly getting to her feet. Quickly tiding the books stacked on her desk she snatched up her jacket from the coat hook and marched out of the room.

"Sergeant!" she called out.

The young man stopped and looked back.

"If anyone comes looking for me, can you tell them that I went to pick up a few documents? I need some additional references," without giving the man a chance to engage in any type of conversation Sheska exited the main doors.

 

Setting his briefcase down against the door, Mr. Mitchell gave a light laugh to himself. Looking across his library the elder man gazed upon Al sitting on the floor, his head awkwardly titled back while he slept against the sofa. The older man’s shoes echoed in the silence as he stepped up to Al and knelt down.

"You're going to get a cramp in your neck if you stay like that," he said quietly. With as much care as he could, he put an arm behind Al's back, the other at his legs, and he slowly lifted Al onto the sofa. The man's effort went in vain when Al suddenly startled awake.

"Sorry," Mitchell gave a sheepish smile, "I tried at least."

Slightly disoriented, Al looked around the room as he tried to regain his bearings, "What time is it?" his voice cracking as he slowly woke.

Mitchell glanced at his watch, "quarter to eleven. What time did you come down here?"

"I came in at eight, but last time I checked it was nine thirty," Al brushed his hands through his hair quickly, "Is your wife okay?"

Caught off guard by the sudden question, Mitchell gave a startled look at Al, "She's doing better now, why do you ask?"

"I heard you leave at 3am.  I heard the officer walking in the hall mention something about your wife," Al knelt back down on the floor as he re-organized the books around the table, "I thought it had to be important if they woke you up."

Sitting down in the second sofa section across the table from Al, a light smile crossed Mitchell’s face, "It was a bit of an emergency, but she's came through alright," he reached across and picked up one of the books Al had been reading, "what were you doing up at that hour anyways?"

Al hesitated before answering, "I couldn't sleep."

"You have a lot on your mind to think about, but hopefully it doesn't keep you up every night," Mitchell flipped the book open in his hand, "And perhaps these books will give you something else to focus on."

Al dropped three books into the empty couch seat behind himself and hopped back onto his cushion, "These books are incredible.  If only Sensei could see them."

"Sensei?"

Al momentarily froze, his mind blanking on him for a few moments before he found a suitable answer, "There was a lady once who helped me with alchemy, it was a long time ago though, when I was first learning," before any more questions could come his way, Al redirected, "where did you get stuff like this? The coding on some of the texts is so detailed it could take a lifetime to figure them out."

Mitchell laughed at that comment, "I know!  I’ve tried and failed several times over the winter to figure them out. And even if my wife and I can't get our heads around it, they're her inheritance and she wouldn't trade them for anything. It's quite the collection isn't it?"

"I could live in here and never know enough," Al's eyes once again circled the room still in awe.

The pair's attention was grabbed at the sound of the library door opening.  Entering was an unremarkable, plain woman, with her brown hair tied up at the back of her head, and a white apron around her waist. As she stepped forward, her toes would peek out from beneath the floor length dress. She cradled a baby in her arms, its tiny hands reaching up as she smiled faintly at it. The more Al stared at her, the more it felt like her presence was going to make him shiver.  The boy wondered if he was the only one who could feel how the woman displaced the life n the room like a wave moved around her.

"Oh lovely, my baby girl is awake," Mitchell rose from his seat quickly and took his child from the woman's arms, "oh your smile makes my horrid night so much better." The tiny child squeaked in response.

Al watched from over his shoulder at the scene taking place. He wondered if this lady was Mitchell's wife, but how could she be when she in the hospital?

"Alphonse," the boy's attention was snagged at the call of his name. Coming up next to Al's seat, Mitchell held the baby in his arms, "do you want to hold her?"  Extending his arms, Al accepted the offer and Mitchell gentle placed his infant daughter into Al's care. "You hold her so well," the man admired.

"I have a friend at home with a baby. He's older than your daughter though," Al looked down into the striking wide brown eyes of this infant who looked back up at him, her tiny mouth wide open, smiling without a care. Al couldn't help but giggle at the un-encouraged acceptance of his arms.

"Sir," the voice of the woman spoke up, "your wife has requested you join her tomorrow at four in the afternoon; the young miss you and your wife are adopting has made a request to be at her bedside."

"Has she? What a lovely child," the man could hardly contain the smile that stretched wide.

Al brushed the thin bits of hair from the baby's forehead, "Baby's going to have a big sister?" he asked in a soft voice, his attention entertained by the young child's soft gums chewing on his index finger.

"Yes she is," Mitchell announced proudly, his fists planted on his hips. In the sudden blink of an eye, his mood changed, "Four? She knows I'm in parliament until five. How long will the girl be allowed to stay there with her?"

The lady, whom Al concluded must be the baby's nanny, clasped her hands in front of herself, "There are documents she wanted you to sign so the two of you could take custody. I assume the child will remain until you arrive."

Al noted the startled response of Mr. Mitchell, "We have paperwork already?"

"It appears so. You would have to discuss it further with your wife if you wanted to know more, my apologies sir," the woman stepped between Mitchell and Alphonse.  Bending over, she removed the infant from the young boy's arms, "it's time for her lunch."

Al reluctantly returned the baby to her original holder, "I can carry her, if it's alright?"

And though the woman smiled down at him, it seemed devoid of the emotions associated with the facial expression.  The look made Al uneasy, "It's fine, I can look after the baby. Please continue with your readings."

Al's arms slowly dropped back own to his sides as he watched the woman carry the infant out of the room. He glanced up to Mitchell, whose smile never left his face – as though he could not feel the emptiness of the woman's presence.

* * *

"I told you, this really wasn't necessary," Hohenheim pushed through his front door as he fumbled to put his keys back into the jacket pocket.

"Nonsense! You've been so good to us today, I'm certain you had so many other things to do than entertain me," Tilly followed the professor in with two paper grocery bags in her arms, "the least we could do was help you with these."

"It's no trouble sir, really. We needed to stop by to see Edward anyways," stepping on the heel of his shoe; Oberth slipped his foot out, "where do you want these?"

"Just on the table in here is fine," Hohenheim told them.

Setting her bags down upon the table, Tilly gazed around the kitchen, "Oh, you have such a nice kitchen – it’s so clean! It's nice to know that there are men out there who know how to clean up in the kitchen. I want a stove and refrigerator like that too… maybe someone will buy one for me someday."

Oberth's eye twitched while the temptation to peg his wife off with one of the new apples crossed his mind. Everyone's attention was suddenly startled at a high whistling noise that came from near the window. In a unison swing of their heads, everyone's eyes focused on the silver teakettle sitting on the stove, spewing a steady flow of white steam from beneath its fluttering lid.

"Shit!" came the distinct cry of Edward as he thundered across the upstairs floor and down the stairs. As his socks helped him slide into the doorframe, Ed moved no further once he caught sight of the astonishing number of people gathered the kitchen.

Hohenheim placed the kettle down upon a cool element and turned back to his son, "DON'T leave the stove unattended."

"I was just putting something-"

"Did you not hear me when I said ‘DON'T’?" Hohenheim scowled with genuine disapproval, "if you're not paying attention the house could burn down."

With a deep breath, Edward found his most insensitive voice, " _Sorry._ " At that, he deliberately changed topics, "What are you two doing here?" Ed brought his hand over his mouth as he gave a cough.

"Did you just wake up?" Oberth laughed at Ed's sloppy attire.

Looking down at himself, Edward examined his black sweatpants and plain white top, "What? This? I wasn't going anywh-" peripheral vision told him something was coming and Ed swung his head out of the way before Tilly could grab his hair, "WHAT?"

"Edward," her hands landed firmly upon her hips, "only poor farm handlers braid their hair. You look like you crawled out of a barn."

The most perplexed expression he'd given off in weeks hung around his face.  Ed pointed at the braid "…Because of this?" he stepped further away from Tilly and moved to the piping kettle.  Oberth laughed again at his wife's obvious disapproval of the situation while Edward glanced back at her with a look of caution before pouring the hot water into a cup. 

Hohenheim's questioning gaze followed Ed silently as he moved.

Stepping up to the table of cluttered groceries, Ed started to poke around in the bags of fresh food, "What are you two doing here?"

"I received a telegram from an acquaintance in Austria," Oberth glanced down at Edward's plain cup of water, "…I passed by him from time to time during the war, our units were stationed close by one at one point. We had drinks once in a while before he was injured. He invited Tilly and myself out for dinner and told me to bring anyone I wanted with me, so I told him you'd be coming."

"Huh?" Ed’s eyes grew wide as his expression became perplexed.  Putting his hand at his chest as he gave a cough, Ed sputtered at them, "I was in the middle of things. And didn't we just have dinner out?"

Tilly giggled, "That was days ago and just you and Hermann.  Mr. Lang is bringing some uptown associates with him.  It'll be a social event."

"Yeah but…" Ed picked up his cup and blew the steam off the top of the water all the while giving a disapproving frown at the thought of mixing with the 'uptown socialites', "you could have asked _me_ first?"

"Of course not! You'd say no," Tilly raised her finger.

Edward scowled at her as he sipped the water.

"You're just as bad as Hermann some days. I know your type - you sit there with your face in some book or notes. Someone has to grab you by the collar and haul you outside if you're going to unwind at all," Tilly's matter of fact comments ended with her hands upon her hips. By this time her husband sat himself down in one of the table chairs, his head in his hand as he looked on unimpressed by the comments.

With the narrowing of his eyes and another sip from the glass, Edward stared back at her, "You haven't known me long enough to say something like that…"

"Mathilde, Hermann, why don't you two have a seat in the living room until Ed is ready to join you. I'm sure he has no objection to going upstairs, getting changed, and dressing appropriately for your friend tonight," Hohenheim decided it was time to organize the disorganized masses who were clogging up his kitchen. At his urging, the couple excused themselves from the room. Finally, with a dissatisfied glare, Edward turned and headed up the stairs. Stopping at the top stair, Ed turned back and looked down at his father who started to follow behind him.

"I know how this conversation goes and so do you. You can skip it," Edward said flatly.

Hohenheim's attention was grabbed by a comment that did not seem to come as a surprise.  The old man played the game anyways, "Pardon?"

A disgruntled sigh followed as Ed took a sharp drink from his cooling glass, "'Edward, are you feeling okay?' 'Yes, I'm always okay.' 'You're not running a fever?' 'For the thousandth time, no.' 'You be-" Edward stopped himself.  He watched his father turn without a word and head back down the stairs. At the top step, Ed stood waiting for Hohenheim to give him some final remark, but nothing came. The eldest Elric simply turned down the hall towards the living room.

Edward stood alone in the early evening light that had filtered into the hall behind him, his surprised eyes examining the empty space where his father once stood. The pinch in his chest told him to go down the stairs and ask what his od man was doing walking away. It was uncharacteristic - his father never let the issue drop so easily. Holding the warm cup in the palm of his left hand, Ed stood at the top stair and waited for the man to come back. When the ticking of the hall clock began to echo over the voices in the living room a withdrawn look entered Ed’s eyes. Finally he turned and headed to his bedroom.

* * *

At the sound of the door opening, Havoc lifted his eyes up from the paperwork piled upon the desk.

"Enjoying my chair, Lieutenant?" Roy stepped into the room, a wooden cane in hand to steady his posture.

"Your chair is the only thing I'm enjoying," Havoc's eyes rolled as he popped the pen into his mouth in place of the absent cigarette, "you get some of the most boring reports to finalize. I thought you said this job was interesting."

Dressed in a casual white collared shirt and jeans, Mustang sat himself down in one of the chairs at the meeting table, "The job is interesting… all of the perks were that is."

"Your free-reign perks have become bureaucratical pen ink," Havoc spat out the pen and it bounced on the desk.

With a smirk on his face, Mustang grinned at his subordinate, "And when I come back you can keep on wasting all that ink. You've done such an outstanding job in my place Havoc that you can continue doing what you're doing. There are hundreds of other things in my jurisdiction I can oversee with all that spare time while you finish off all of my paperwork."

Havoc's eyebrow twitched at the thought, "I'm going to respectfully decline, Sir. You've done quite enough already to get me into this position."

"I will take your that into consideration," Roy continued to smirk through their play. Taking a moment to relax in the chair, the Brigadier General stared across the room haphazardly, "did you look after that officer?"

Picking up the pen once more, Havoc returned to leafing through the papers, "he was shipped out this morning."

"And his daughter?"

"She was sent home," the lower officer's eyes did not lift from the sheets he scanned.

Roy gave a slow nod of approval as he turned to watch Havoc work, "The statements?"

"Second from the bottom," Havoc's eyes glanced to a stack of envelopes at the left corner of the desk, "I've been ordered to send them to the investigations department before the end of my shift."

"Isn't that a shame," Roy slowly stood up; trying not to give away the feeling of displeasure he endured by having to rely on the cane once more; he'd enjoyed several weeks without the wretched device but now his leg was acting up again. Regardless, he took a stroll around the room and timing his steps with the ticking of the clock. Havoc's eyes trained on his paperwork as the pen found its way back into his teeth. He did not look up again until Mustang's voice caught his attention.

"Lieutenant," Roy pulled the cigarette package out from the chest pocket of his jacket hanging on the coat hanger. Havoc's eyebrows rose as he noticed his last two cigarettes in his commanding officer's hands, "I think you should take a trip to the convenience store and pick another package of cigarettes," within his fingers, Roy snapped the final pair, "you seem to be out."

The pen in Havoc's teeth drooped at the sight.

"While you're out, why not swing by the central library and pick up something for me to read while I sit in this old office," Roy swept the cigarette parts away with his foot, "I'm sure I'll get bored by 4:30. Perhaps someone's biography would suffice."

The mortified expression on Havoc's face slowly faded away as he stood up from the chair, "Sure…" was the cautious reply. Walking over to the coat rack, he retrieved his jacket as Roy tossed the empty package into the garbage. Before Havoc's hand was able to firmly grasp the door handle, the knob turned on its own and nearly swung open into him.  He stumbled out of the way.

"Pardon me, Lieutenant," Hawkeye stood in the doorway, her light beige jacket buttoned up over her black shirt and pants.  A briefcase dangled in hand, "You were on your way out?"

Havoc's hand quickly made its way to a salute, "Yes, Major. Excuse me." Stepping past his superior, the lieutenant left the room as Roy made his way back to what was once his desk chair. Sitting carefully down in the leather seat, a dissatisfied look crossed his face.

"That still sounds wrong."

"Does it?" Riza gave him a questioning look as she grabbed one of the chairs and pulled it over to the desk.

"Second Lieutenant to First Lieutenant was not that hard, but Major? I hope you don't let the prestige of being such a high-ranking female officer go to your head," he said with a careless expression as he flipped through Havoc's paperwork.

"Since I'm still part of your subordinate structure, I will have too much 'housekeeping' to do before something like that could happen," Riza sat herself down, a classic business look still on her face.

Dismissing the comment, Roy's gave a slight adjustment to his eye patch as he scanned over the papers, "There is too much paperwork to get anything done with efficiency now, lots of things keep getting lost, including overdue promotions. Regardless, it was still a good day yesterday for you two," Roy's hand carefully slipped the envelope of statements out from under the pile, "it's a shame more paperwork will go missing."

"You're putting Lieutenant Havoc in a tough situation, especially after his third star," Riza gave him a glance that was meant more for guilt than disapproval.

Roy, visually unfazed by the comment, handed the envelope to her, "If he gets me what I need from the library, I'm sure I can do something to make sure he survives the situation."

With a sigh, Riza tucked the envelope into her briefcase.

"Speaking of promotions," Roy reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, "someone should look into promoting that Sergeant Broche. He's been convenient twice already," he handed the telegram card to Hawkeye.

Examining the details of the hand written copy of the telegram card bound for Sheska, Riza handed it back to him without a second thought, "He neglected his observational duties with young Alphonse in the hospital. He was also neglecting his daily duties while chatting with the Sergeant at the transmission desk. Luck and good timing are not a skills."

"I’d like to think I've mastered the skill of luck," the corner or Roy's mouth curled up, "you're such a harsh Major."

Riza stood up from her seat, brushing her hair behind her shoulders, "Someone has to be." Heading back towards the door she gave a glance over her shoulder, "Perhaps I'll take your car out for a drive once more?"

"Have it for as long as you need it," Roy's eye began skimming over a few papers he'd picked up, "don't forget to come back here and pick me up." Hearing the door shut behind her, Roy raised an eyebrow at the lack of a response. Something told him not to put it past her to accidentally 'forget' to pick him up.

* * *

Without warning, Fritz lifted Edward's right arm into the air, "That's amazing! It's just like a robot!"

He snatched his arm back, his voice sharp with defiance, "It's a prosthesis. I control it on my own."

"That's incredible, I've never seen anything like that," the man everyone addressed as Fritz sat himself back down in his chair at their round dining table. He adjusted the monocle that sat at his left eye, "I don't suppose you'd want to be part of a movie for me, eh?"

The glaring look of displeasure shot across the table and Edward popped his fork into his mouth, "No."

"Ah! I could do so much with an idea like that," the man leaned back in his chair as he scooped a heaping of mashed potatoes from his plate into his mouth. At the man's right, the woman who graced his side placed her elbows on the tabled and her fingers interlaced.

"So could I. Can you imagine, a world where man starts to become machine. It would be the dehumanization of society; man could lose its identity," her amused grin ran ear to ear.

Edward's grin did not. He was not entertained by either the implications that he was something 'un-human' nor how they were turning this into some fantasy story. He took a mental note to inform the Oberth couple to keep quiet about his physical situation in the future. The corner of Ed's eyes caught them as they laughed.

"Now, come on," a woman directly across from Ed waved her hand so she could have everyone's attention, "you're just being foolish. Robots… my word," wrapping her cloth napkin around her hand, she dabbed her mouth clear of any gravy; the curling ends of her short-cut dark hair bobbed at her neck as she did.

"Lya, it's just fun," Oberth straightened his shirt as he sat next to Edward, "I'd been given the impression you had a better spirit than that."

The young woman, Lya, picked up her cutlery once more, not yet finished with her meal. Her complexion and eyes teased that she could have been someone younger than the entire table, yet she had the stunning curvature of a woman within that black dress. She gave a bit of a laugh while she straightened the fur around her shoulders, "I'm sorry, it's been a long couple days. I had such a short time to get my business in Munich done."

"Poor thing, when is your train to Berlin coming in?" between the woman between Lya and Fritz perfected her posture in the seat, her similar short blonde curls bouncing in identical fashion as the other women. When she wasn't acting 'foolish' at the prompting of her companion, she carried the most maturity of the entire table without saying a word.

Distancing himself from the conversation that he felt too out-aged and out-classed in, Ed's eyes wandered around the room disinterested. His gaze scanned the late night hall filled with some of the highest profile figures in Munich. Without consciously doing do, his mind wandered back to earlier in the day.

Ed's face suddenly twisted as he felt the sharp poke of a pointed shoe into his shin. He looked at the five other members of his table to find Lya as the only one giving him a 'pay attention' gaze. Continuing to sit within the discomfort of the table, he straightened his tie.

"Lya, how'd you get to know a creepy old man like Fritz here," Oberth poked at them through a half grin, adjusting the napkin in his collar.

"Old man, he calls me," Fritz let out a hearty laugh that was drowned out in the noise of the crowded venue.

As she settled her giggles, Lya looked to Oberth and his wife, "I bumped into Mr. Lang at the train station and he recognized me from one of my stage performances. We talked for a while and found out we both know Robert Reinert; the director of my last movie."

Ed poked what was left of the steak on his plate with his fork and chewed casually on a few pieces he'd cut.

Oberth raised an eyebrow, "Reinert… the name isn't familiar."

Fritz waved a hand casually, "Oh he's gone by Dinesen before. I worked with him just after I got out of the hospital. He helped me get my taste in the film industry. I assisted him in a serial - you must have seen it at some point.  It was called Homunculus."

Edward’s fist hit his chest before the fork had a chance to ring off the floor, trying desperately to cough back up the dinner he'd just inhaled.

The gathering at the table stood up in unison as Ed curled over in his chair, his hands covering his face as he began to cough. Oberth grabbed him by his shoulder but Ed pushed the hand away, "I'm fine," his hands once again covered his mouth as he coughed trying to regain his breath, "sorry."

"Chew your food more carefully next time," Tilly crossed her legs as she sat back down.

Still red in the cheeks from the sudden start, Ed looked to Fritz, "What was that movie called?"

"Homunculus. It was a six part serial I did some casual work on. Big hit during the war," Fritz picked up the water jug in the middle of the table and poured Ed a glass.

Ed's eyes drilled into the man, "What was it about?"

"Oh, jeez," Fritz hung his arm over the back of his chair as he sat, "it was about a scientist who creates the 'perfect creature' called Homunculus. The thing discovers it has no soul and isn't really human. Homunculus resents the fact society has rejected it and that it's not a real human. It starts tyrannizing all the people in an act of vengeance. Homunculus ends up becoming the dictator of some nation, then tries to destroy other nations and conquer the world."

Ed paused, running the story through his mind. The similarities sent a shiver through his skin, "Can I see this film?"

Fritz glanced around to his companions at his table, "I don't think it's in any theatres anymore, this was five years ago."

"Edward…" all eyes fell upon Lya as she sat observing the whole situation, "you said that your father was a professor at Munich’s University correct? You can check and see if the university has a copy. I heard that some of the schools in Berlin had copies of popular films."

Ed nodded to her, suddenly knowing what he was going to do tomorrow. His attention turned over to Fritz once more, "So what happens?"

Fritz ran his hand through his hair, "It gets struck down by a bolt of lightning and dies."

It was the first time the whole evening Edward had cracked a smile, and it was more than a smile. Ed sat there and found the fate of the storied Homunculus something he could not resist laughing at. He was the only one laughing, but he didn't mind.

If only it was that easy.

* * *

At the barking of one of the elder librarians, Havoc's unlit cigarette came out of his mouth and went behind his ear. Following the directions of a much nicer young lady, who quickly became a good reason to return to the library at a later time, Havoc's stroll took him to the second floor of the Central Library.  Biographies were kept in a subsection of the library and down an adjoining hall from the main collection. Somewhat concerned by the lack of patrons within the library at this time of day, the lieutenant began to wonder if he'd misread Mustang’s ulterior motive – if there was one at all. Standing at the beginnings of what was part of the historical non-fiction section of the library, Havoc's expression fell as he entered the subsection… it was not an area he frequented.

"I can't do that!"

At the echoing of a voice sounding as if it should have been whispered, Havoc took a step back behind one of the shelving units. The muffled voices disappeared into the general hum of the heavy circulation system once more. With cautious steps forward, he moved deeper into the room, thankful that his footsteps were being drowned out. Eventually picking up on the vibration of voices within the room, Havoc followed the sounds as they grew more distinct, carefully placing each foot as he made a step, watching his own shadow to make sure it never peeked out before he did.

"I just need you to find out who made that call…"

"It'll be sealed; there'd be so much trouble if I got caught. I don't know who'd charge me first for that."

"You're in the investigations department! I'm sure you can do some 'investigating' into the file and find out if the call to Dublith was even made by the military."

"And so what? What if I find out who made that call? How's that supposed to help you find him? Didn't I tell you where I think he is?"

"I'd at least know if it was them or not! There weren't any names given in the paper, I don't know for sure if they're even here. If it was Lieutenant Ross or Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong then they wouldn't have called the meat shop asking about Izumi unless something was wrong."

"I have heard people in the halls saying that the police are having problems getting decent information about what happened to 'the boy's' mother. There were some problems that went on between the military and the police up when the girl's father showed up. I don't know what though. If they called, they might have been looking for information."

"I think they called the night before you said that girl’s dad showed up. But I just… I can't imagine Izumi vanishing like that. There has to be more."

"I don't understand. If Al was one of those two kids in the explosion, why would they have called Izumi's husband over calling you in Rizembool?"

"Sheska have you seen him? There's no way they'd call Rizembool first and risk sounding that stupid. They'd call Dublith first because you can't mistake Izumi."

Havoc cleared his throat causing the girls to muffle their shrieking at the sound. With his casual swagger, Havoc turned down the aisle and walked the length of the shelves towards the study table where two girls sat.  He popped the cigarette back into his teeth, "Hey ladies, is this where everyone playing hooky comes?"

"L-lieutenant Havoc!" Winry and Sheska squeaked in unison.

Standing up immediately at Havoc's presence, Sheska's stress level doubled, "I'll head back to my post right away, sir. I didn't intend on being gone for so long."

"Woah woah… I didn't come here to send you back. I actually came here to kill some time and pick up a book," Havoc gave an amused chew of his cigarette, "did I scare you girls, neither of you look too good?"

"Oh no," came their response in chorus as they forced themselves to relax back into the chairs.

Grabbing a chair at the eight-person table, Havoc spun it around and sat down on the backwards seat, "Winry, you show up in Central and don't even stop by to say hi?"

"Uh," the brightest face she could put on over her shocked expression came alive, "sorry about that, if I had a chance to stop by, I would have," the corner of her smile twitched unintentionally, "How long have you been in here?"

"Just walked in and thought I recognized the voices," grinning charismatically through his teeth, Havoc relaxed over the back of the chair, "I thought I heard you mention something about Rizembool? How's everyone doing out there?"

Sheska glanced over to Winry who gave a vigorous nod, "Oh we're doing alright; the boys are enjoying the change in life style. It's much more relaxing out in the countryside for everyone. There’s more time to think and research. It's good. We like it. I've always liked it."

"Good to know those brothers are getting on alright. What about you? What brought you all the way out to Central?"

Brushing her bangs aside Winry gave a light giggle, "Al was heading to Dublith and I thought he might have stopped off to see some people in Central. But I didn't know if his train schedule was the same as mine. And since I haven't seen him at all in the city, he's probably back on the train to Dublith."

"Well I can tell ya I haven't seen Al and I'm certain he would have dropped by jeadquarters if he had stopped by. And even if he hadn't, it's not like he's hard to miss," Havoc took the cigarette out of his mouth and slid it behind his ear, a puzzled look crossing his eyes, "wouldn't you two have come in on the same train though?"

Staring blankly back at Havoc for an awkward moment of silence, Winry finally perked up, "Oh, no no, um, I came in from Rush Valley. I've been staying with a friend down there."

"Oh!" Havoc gave an affirmative nod, "You must have a few hookups in other cities by now I’d guess."

Giving a laugh with as little nerves as possible, Winry relaxed a bit in her chair, "Yes, that's very true… very true. Um, I heard it's been exciting around here this last week." She searched for a swift change in topic that was more relevant to her curiosity.

"Yeah, it has. I've tried to keep my nose out of it. All that uproar did was give me more papers to read and sign," Havoc let out a genuine sigh of displeasure.

Winry tipped her head at the comment; "You have a desk job now? I can't see you doing that."

Havoc rolled his eyes, "It turned into a desk job. The Brigadier General is going to hate it when he comes back and we'll get to hear all about it."

"Oh that's right," Sheska's eyes turned over to Winry, unsure if she had ever been made completely aware of the man's condition. Winry simply nodded in acceptance of the situation.

"He's still on injury leave?"

"Yeah, but he's due back before the end of summer. I get to warm the chair for him in the meantime," Havoc gave a smirk to the comment, "why don't you girls come by the office. I can take a cue from the Brigadier General and kill an afternoon's work worth of paperwork once in a while," with the flick of his finger, Havoc pointed at Winry, "and no one's seen you since the end of last summer. You can't think that we're not interested in how everyone's been doing?"

Both girl's instantly went on defence, "Oh no, we can't."

"I shouldn't, there's so much I need to do."

"And I have to get going."

"Oh come on," Havoc glanced to Sheska, "if you show up in my office, then I can vouch for your whereabouts _if_ anyone comes looking," he gave her a wink.

Sheska's face fell a bit at the malicious glint in Havoc's eye, "I'm being blackmailed, I think," she glanced to Winry who was quickly getting up from her seat.

"No really, I can't. There're a lot of errands I need to run today. I need to pick up a few things for my shop and for my Grandmother," with a panicked haste, Winry began to gather her two travel bags behind her chair.

"Well hey," Havoc grabbed up the second bag before Winry could, "I'll drive you around this afternoon, how about that? That'll give you some extra time before the stores close and everyone should still be around by the time you're done."

Winry's hand tightened nervously around the shoulder strap of the one bag as she tossed her lengths of blonde hair behind her shoulders, "I can't trouble you like that."

"No trouble. It's a voluntary taxi service," Havoc snapped his fingers as he tossed the bag over his shoulder, "come on, how often do you pass through Central?"

Winry cracked a smile for him, something inside her told her that no matter how hard she insisted, she was going to lose this battle. The prospect of chatting about the past eight months made her so nervous she could tremble from head to toe. She knew full well that very little she would say would be the truth and that hurt most of all, "Well, I suppose for a bit." Winry zipped up her black jacket and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. She glanced back over her shoulder to Sheska who had already given in.

Havoc turned out of the room, "The car's outside."

* * *

"Homunculus, eh?" The older lady at the library desk scratched her chin, "I know the title, but I'm not sure if it's something we have."

"If it's not in your back room, is there anywhere else it might be?" the look of frustration had started to become quite apparent on Ed.

"Um…" the woman adjusted the bun on her head, "if you head through those doors on your left, the door at the end of the hallway is for the photo development lab. If it's not in the main section, sometimes reels get put in that storage closet if no one's borrowed them in a while."

"Do you have a key for the room?"

As if to annoy Ed further the woman slowly began opening the drawers of the desk she was sitting at. She picked through the drawers as if she were picking through the garbage – carefully, as if each item were diseased. Ed's eye twitched.

"Oh, no I'm sorry. I forgot; there's someone in there right now. If you knock on the door, maybe she'll let you in."

Without a speck of gratitude Ed turned on his heels and marched off through the doors on his left. His thin ponytail danced behind him as he walked down the hallway. He didn't need that lady to make his mood any worse than it already was today, his father's continued silence was doing a fine enough job as it was.

Marching up to the door, Edward gave a firm knock. Again, his eye twitched as he waited while no response coming from within. He knocked again, shoving his hands in his pockets as he waited for someone to open the door. Ed had been warned that entering a photography room could cause serious trouble; the light would ruin film development. But again, there was no sign of life. He grabbed the door handle and wiggled it, hoping to grab someone's attention from within, and to his surprise the door popped open.

Ed slowly peeked around the door into the unoccupied room. Shutting the door behind himself, he flicked on the dim desk light near the door and looked around.

"Hello?" Edward began to walk slowly around the room, bypassing bits of photography equipment and a personal camera on a central, large table as he did so. He had to admit, he was surprised by how large the room was. Walking his circle around the room Ed noted the doors that graced each wall. Thinking it was rather ridiculous to have multiple entrances to a film lab, each door must be a storage closet. Ed grabbed the handle of the first door on his clockwise journey and pulled it open – he instantly squinted as he found himself bombarded by light. Rubbing his eyes, Ed peered out into this un-trodden white corridor. Giving his head a shake, Ed had nearly closed the door to save his sight when the distinct sound of a girl's giggling voice rang out. Without a second thought Ed stepped into the hallway and tried to follow the voice. Standing in the corridor it seemed to be a link between six different rooms, one at each end, and two on each side. Finding the sound of the giggles loudest at the end of the hall, Ed opened yet another door and looked inside.

His ears were greeted by the sudden scream of a young voice.  In the darkness of this video screening room a girl who only came to his shoulder suddenly stood before him.

"I'm so sorry Sir! I'll put this all back I swear! I was just curious!"

"Huh? Curious about what?" Ed shook his head and looked down into the striking blue eyes of a petrified girl, barely old enough to be called a young lady, "who are you? Are you allowed in here?"

"Wow…" the girl stared up at him – the conversation stalled as she did so – her eyes were wide with wonder.

Ed blinked and took a startled step back.

"…Your eyes are yellow…"

Sharply adjusting his tie, Ed cleared his throat, "They’re gold.  Who are you and what are you doing here? Are you even OLD enough to be in here?"

The girl began to fidget with the sides of her dress, "Um, my name is Brigitte… and I was supposed to develop some film, but I got distracted. I'm sorry, please don't call the nuns. I'll just leave."

"Nuns? What nuns?" Ed scratched his head completely lost by the comment.

The girl's eyes narrowed at him, "Do you work here Sir? You're dressed awful fine to not…"

"No. I came looking for a film reel," his eyes glanced up at the projection still flashing on the screen, "what are you watching?"

"It's an animated film! I saw it in the storage closet when I came into the room, I wanted to see it," Brigitte quickly ran over and turned off the projector as Ed turned on the light within the room. He watched as the girl stood on an overturned box and, with precision, she rewound the film reel through the machine, and then disassembled the set up upon the projector.

Again, Ed gave her a questioning look, "How old are you?"

"Thirteen, Sir," she carefully lay the reel back into its container and pushed the lid down over it.

"And you came here to develop film?!" Ed returned to scratching his head.

Swiftly marching past him and back into the bright corridor, Brigitte held the reel against her chest, "I had some pictures of my mother, Heidi, and old classmates on my camera that I wanted to develop. It's too expensive to hop on a train to Berlin every weekend to see them, so I took pictures before I left. And if I can do it myself, why bother paying someone to develop my film for me."

"Oh," the perplexed expression still lingered on Ed's face as he followed her down the hall, a little overwhelmed by her dump of information. He shut the door of the room they'd exited and before he could make his way back into the development room, Ed found himself face to face with a camera lens.  In the bright hall, Brigitte snapped a photograph of his puzzled expression.

"I wish I could make colour photographs," Brigitte turned the camera over in her hands, examining it carefully, "no one's going to believe me at school when I tell them I met a man with yellow eyes. But the light in here is bright enough the photograph should turn out at least."

Extending his gloved hands, Ed made the non-verbal request to examine at the camera. The girl handed it over for inspection.

"It's an AG Stuttgart Piccolette!" she announced proudly, "My mother and sister got it for me for my birthday."

Ed handed it back to her, "And the university is letting you use their equipment to develop your pictures?"

"One of the sisters helped arrange it for me," Brigitte nodded as she headed back into the dimmed light of the photography room, "I guess she's taking responsibility if I damage anything. And I'll get 20 lashes if I do, so I'm keeping everything as perfect as I can."

Ed raised his eyebrows at the comment, realizing he'd just found her doing something far more troublesome than developing film, and that probably warranted more than twenty lashes. Picking the film reel Brigitte had put down, Ed moved towards what he assumed was a closet door, "Which one does this belong in?"

"The one in front of you has equipment in it, the one on your right has the films," setting her camera down on the counter, Brigitte came over to join Edward, "you said you were looking for a film?" she pulled open the closet door for him.

"It's called Homunculus," Ed returned the film to the only empty hole in the shelves.

"I don't think it's here," Brigitte put her hands on her hips, "I looked at all of the titles before I watched one. I didn't see that name on any of them."

Ed gave a sigh and simply shut the door on the reels.  Brigitte took a few startled steps backwards at his sudden discouragement. "It would have been six volumes, you couldn't have missed it," he turned and leaned up against the door, "maybe I should just go to the market instead. I'm just chasing ghosts."

"Sir?"

"Huh?" Edward gave a lethargic look towards her.

"Maybe if you knew who made the film, you could ask someone if they know who he is, and maybe find him?" Brigitte hopped up onto the table to rest her feet.

Ed gave a bit of a laugh at that, "Okay Brigitte, do you know who Robert Dinesen, or Reinert, or whatever his name is?" The long pause that ensued caused Edward to focus his gaze harder unto the girl upon the counter.  He straightened himself slowly, "What?"

Brigitte crossed her legs as she sat quietly on the counter and smoothed out the front of her dress. She chewed on the inside of her cheeks without a response.

"… What?"

"Mr. Reinert is co-founder of Emelka here in Munich. I shot a documentary with them last summer… um…" Brigitte glanced out the corners of her eyes to Ed.

Edward slowly moved himself away from the door, his eyes wide in amusement of the situation, "… Where's the studio?"

"Well, they're on the other side of the city," Brigitte looked to the ceiling in thought, "and it's Saturday, so they're closed."

Ed's hand promptly slapped over his face.

"Sir?"

"Huh?" Edward gave another disheartened look her way through his fingers.

Brigitte clasped her hands over her knee; her short blonde curls held tight up against her head, "The markets are busy on Saturdays. Do you want to help me develop my film instead?"

* * *

Using a slow hand, Havoc shut the office door behind himself. Glancing over to the desk, Mustang still sat in his old chair, his suspicious gaze asking Havoc more than enough questions, yet only one was spoken first:

"And?"

"The girls bumped into Falman in the hall. Do you want them both in here when they're done?" Havoc raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Can they answer my questions?" Roy's quest for an answer continued with annoyance in his voice.

Havoc gave off a gradual nod, "Yes, they can."

"Did you get anything?" Mustang's eyes narrowed.

Havoc sat himself down in one of the chairs and glanced over to his superior, "Winry came in from Rizembool looking for Alphonse. She's suspecting that he's 'the boy' caught in the market explosion. They'll tell you otherwise," with a deep breath, the look in his eyes showed signs of becoming overwhelmed, "Sir, I don't know how… this… I mean for Edward to have…"

Slouching in his seat, Roy folded his arms and began radiating with deep frustration, his suspicious imagination running wild with all the loose ends, "I've gotten sick of being deceived and lied to by these children," his eye glanced over to the window as he swivelled in the chair, "my patience has run thin… -hm?"

Both Mustang and Havoc looked over their shoulders to the door.

With her head peeking into the room, Sheska found herself startled into silence as her saucer-wide eyes stared into the interrogating expression of Mustang – someone she had not expected to see. The look of irritation in his face sent a wave of panic through her body as Sheska gripped the door handle tighter; for some reason, Roy’s black eye patch always added to the intensity of his unpleasant moods.

"Come inside Sheska," Havoc's voice was anything but inviting.

"We were actually..." she glanced back out into the hall, "going to gather everyone and go for coffee," her voice quivered slowly with caution, "did you want to join us?" Her eyes watched as the serious tones surrounding both men never wavered.

"Take a seat in here," came Mustang's authoritative command in complete disregard of her request.

More frightened by the comment than taken aback by it, Sheska glanced around the large curtain-drawn room, "Sure..." she again peeked back out into the hall, pulling her jacket tighter around herself, "… Winry!"

Though Sheska’s holler was going tell Winry that she would be delayed for coffee, there was no disguising the alarming panic that rang out in the frazzled girl’s voice.

“SHEZKA!” It was Havoc's fist that slammed down onto the table in annoyance at Sheska’s inadvertent verbal warning that something was wrong.

The replacement of frustration from the normal compassionate tone Havoc carried startled Sheska so much she jumped. Finding herself with little alternative but to enter the room, she joined the two men. Her shoes echoed in the silence as she moved cautiously to the center of the office, finally sitting down in a chair across from Lieutenant Havoc. Her eyes shifted between the interrogating gazes bestowed upon her.

"Do you know why we're here?" the depth of Mustang's powerful tone made Sheska wish she could simply disappear.

"No, sir."

Again all eyes turned to the door as it opened once again. There Falman stood and he instantly became alarmed by the atmosphere within the room. Wondering if he should simply retreat back into the hallway, he chose to address Sheska instead, "Sorry for my intrusion, but, do you know where Winry ran off to?"

Roy's expression grew darker, he'd _thought_ that at some point before he'd last seen Edward that a level of trust had been established which he could rely upon when dealing with these Rizembool families. He could not find any reason why they were suddenly shutting him out without any notification or explanation. Simple acknowledgement of his involvement with the situation would have sufficed days ago.

Sheska's eyes glanced to Mustang momentarily before back to Falman, "Did she say anything?"

"She said she needed to go to the washroom, but," Falman's eyes bounced around the three occupants, "the washroom is at the other end of the hall."

"Warrant Office Falman," Roy's voice rang out coldly, "I want that girl arrested." The only set of eyes that did not give the man a surprised reaction was Havoc's.

"Wh… what for?!"

"She is hindering an investigation and has become a suspect as well. The Central Market explosion case may no longer be under my department's supervision, but I still have the authority to bring suspects into custody," there was no nonsense about the tone, "the police can deal with her as they see fit."

Sheska shrieked in alarm, suddenly concerned by the implications of the second charge, "Wait a minute! Winry wasn't even in town when that happened."

Havoc glanced to Mustang looking to gauge the seriousness of his apprehension order. With all doubt erased, Havoc addressed to the stunned officers, "The information she's provided me about her whereabouts the last week have been inconsistent, she could have been anywhere."

"You don't know that?!" Sheska argued, her voice choking with panic, "wh-what are you doing!?  You can't hand her over to the police, you don't know what they'd do to her!"

"She told me that she came in from Rush Valley, yet I clearly heard you place her in Rizembool a few moments earlier. Those locations are days apart and aren’t connected directly by train – you require Central to be a transfer station. Until we can confirm her whereabouts for the last week, we don't know anything for sure," Havoc's stern address to Sheska caused her to sink into the wooden chair.

"… How much did you hear of our conversation?"

The Lieutenant's eyes turned back over to Mustang, waiting for his next call, "Falman, go! Take Breda with you."

"Don't go!" Sheska shrieked back at Falman, but the door swung shut on her voice. Clenching her fists in her lap, Sheska's jaw tightened as she tried to subdue her nerves and emotions, "why can't you leave this alone? You were removed from the case, isn't it obvious that it's not involving you anymore."

Slowly Roy rose to his feet, unaided by his cane, "I had tried very hard, _very hard_ to create a passage for those brothers to use at their own discretion. I'd hoped I had gained a mutual understanding with them at some point in time. I never expected their gratitude, I never asked for it either; it's not something I require. Up until now, I had no intention on intruding on their privacy if they wish to be left alone. I've known for a long time that if they achieved their goal, they would disappear," Havoc watched the Brigadier General as he tightened his shoulders, "but right now, in this situation, I do not believe that any of us deserve to be treated as an obstacle. Have my actions not made it apparent numerous times that my agenda has always taken their well-being into consideration?!"

Sheska's eyes glanced away from him; she looked down into her lap, "Sir, I don't think you quite understand…"

For Mustang, that was the wrong response, "Do you know what I don't understand? I don't understand why I've had to fight to get information on this boy.  Why I just ordered a nonsensical arrest. I don't understand why, every time one of my officers places a phone call to someone who could let us help him, we are hung up on. I do not understand why critical people insist on lying to me and creating barriers to keep me out. I haven't a single shred of factual information on how that Alphonse even exists - I may have my own theories, but they do nothing but create more questions," with each sentence, Mustang's tone of voice rose; his enunciation growing more precise with each step up, "I have little explanation for Alphonse's behaviour towards me and I am _astounded_ that Edward has been a complete non-factor in the whole situation. I have a thousand more questions than I have answers because the doors I opened for them have slammed in my face," his hands came thundering down onto the desk, "Don't _misunderstand_ how frustrated this has made me."

From the corner of his eye, Havoc watched as Sheska reached into the inside pocket of her coat. After a momentary pause she pulled out an opened letter envelope. Getting to her feet slowly, she placed the envelope in between herself and the lieutenant. She kept her head low; the tilt of her glasses used the reflection of the room's light to keep anyone from looking into her eyes. Her voice came off distant and withdrawn, filling the room with a sinking feeling.

"I'm sorry, I have to go now, am I excused?"

Havoc slid the envelope towards himself. The return address was enough and he pulled the two page letter out from the envelope.  Without opening it, he folded the papers in half once more, and slipped it into his chest pocket, "I think you can be excused."

Sheska's hand darted across the table, snatching back her empty envelope. Shoving it into a pocket she ran out the door without a word to anyone… without turning back to look.

"Lieutenant Havoc," the firmness of Mustang's voice startled him to attention. His expression slowly mellowed while Roy pulled his black jacket on once more. With a straightening tug of his coat and firm grip on the cane, the officer who'd stopped feeling as though he was still on injury leave headed towards the door, "it's 4:30 and you still have a ton of paperwork left on your desk. I hope you have it done by the time I come back tomorrow."

A sheepish grin came across Havoc's face as he gave a light laugh in relief of the whole situation, "I didn't have anywhere to be tonight, anyways."

* * *

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Havoc didn't take over all of Roy's job, just a part of it. Roy's duties were distributed among his senior staff (IE: Hawkeye and Havoc).
> 
> Homunculus (6-part German silent film – 1916). Directed by Otto Rippert, written by Robert Dinesen (Reinert). Yes, it really exists.


	6. Father's Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back to Edward's first Christmas with his father, just after his arrival in London. Special Chapter.

 

The hinges on the car door creaked open, the bitter cold doing very little for the health of the imperfect vehicle, let alone its occupants. Ed's right boot vanished into the snow as he stepped his foot down to the cement, though he remained sitting upon the cold seat of the car. His thoughts constantly in awe of the amounts that had fallen over the last week – it was like nothing he'd ever seen. He pulled the wool hat down tighter over his head.

Hohenheim glanced over to him as he opened the back car door, "You're going to be okay in the snow?" from the back seat, he handed Ed a wooden crutch.

Using the side of the car as an anchor, Ed pulled himself up onto his right leg; his tone harsh at the implication he was unable to care for himself, "We're only going up their walkway." Tucking the crutch under his left arm, Ed moved away from the car; Hohenheim shut the door behind him. Shivering within his heavily weighted coat, Ed followed his father up the snow-covered path to the house they'd been invited to for the evening. From what he'd seen of London thus far, the old brick house seemed to be one of the more aristocratic ones. He tried to sink into the scarf around his neck to keep the bitter winds from stinging his cheeks.

Hohenheim knocked firmly on the door twice. Before his hand was able to hit for the third and final knock, the door had swung open.

"Aunty! They're here!" the little girl who'd opened the door for them called back into the house before looking to Edward and Hohenheim once more, "come inside! It's bitter in the snow."

"Thank you, Diana," Hohenheim looked back to Ed, and motioned for him to follow. He moved as quickly as caution would allow him to do with his crutch in the blowing snow; last thing he wanted to do was fall over again. Entering the house, he was instantly hit by the brightness of the entire building; it made the house feel warmer than the heat of the oven and fireplace had actually created. Ed gave his head a shake to get the snow off his hat and shoulders. Hohenheim reached out and plucked the hat from his head the moment he stopped.

With her hair done in brown spiral curls, a woman rushed down the hall towards the guests within her house, "I'm so glad you came, I was worried the weather would keep you home." The woman pulled up her holiday Victorian dress as she pushed shoes aside that cluttered her hallway, "please Edward, have a seat on the stairs so you can unbundled yourself."

Awkwardly making his way around the cluttered hall, Ed moved to the staircase that lead up to the second floor, "Sorry, my shoe is going to leave tracks on your carpet," he leaned the crutch up against the wall and gripped his left hand on the stair railing as he slowly sat down.

"Don't worry about it, the children spilt juice on my carpet earlier in the day. Snow and soil are nothing," the lady of the house adjusted his crutch against the wall to prevent it from tipping.

Ed unwrapped the scarf from around his neck as the woman reached over to help him with his coat.

"I'm alright."

"You're our guest, I can help you with your coat."

Ed reluctantly gave into her assistance and the woman hung his jacket up in the closet while he undid the buckle on his boot. Hohenheim was the one who took the boot from the bottom of the stairs and placed it among the others. Again reaching for the railing, Ed wrinkled his face as he pulled himself to his only good leg while glancing down to make sure the pin still kept his other pant leg rolled up. Steadying himself with the wall for support he looked up the stairs while taking his crutch once more; the young faces of two little girls, one far younger than the other, and their dolls stared back at him from above. Their season-appropriate red and green plaid dresses blending into each other as they huddled together.

"Diana, come down here!" Ed's attention was quickly snatched by the distinct 'Mother' tone.

The one who'd opened the door for them earlier left her companion, ran down the stairs and stood before the woman, "Aunty?"

"Would you show these men to the common room?" the woman addressed as 'Aunty' clasped her hands as the little girl nodded in acceptance of her mission.

Hohenheim motioned for Ed to start moving, and he began to follow. Unable to protest once more, his hostess straightened his vest and re-folded his collar before she allowed Ed to go any farther. It was not more than twenty steps when the little girl made a sharp turn and lead the pair through a set of white, gold-handled doors. As swiftly as he could, Ed caught up with Hohenheim before the pair entered the room.

"Hohenheim!" a man's bright voice greeted them, "you got through the weather." The man placed his pipe down in the tray and he stood up to shake hands.

Standing back near the closing doors, Ed's eyes traveled around the room. Instantly drawn in by the huge decorated spruce tree had been set up in front of the window; he noted the mountain of tightly wrapped presents lying beneath it as well as the angel upon the highest peak. He's been warned about the strange custom, but thought it was an odd sight nonetheless. He took note of the perfectly dressed people sitting on the couches encircling an elegant glass coffee table, oversized paintings framed with a shining silver colour hung on the wall, the orange crackling fireplace lived behind the protective screen and the red stockings hung above it. The puzzling green-leaved decorations adorned various corners and edges of the room; he concluded the pine smell was because the tree was only a few days old.

"Edward, you came too. I'm glad you were feeling well enough to join us."

Ed glanced up at the man, his eyes carrying a displaced look, "I was told I had to come." Though his response was blunt; it did not seem to faze anyone. As he shifted his weight upon the crutch, Ed kept his vision trained with curiosity on the man whose eyes marvelled upon him.

"Edward, this is Charles Wilson," Hohenheim introduced the companion.

With a smirk, the trim gentleman looked back to Ed's father, "Your boy gotten a fair bit of his colour back into his complexion. That's good to see."

Hohenheim gave a nod at that and moved to sit down, "It's good indeed. And it's good to see you again Charles, you've been busy off on duty the last couple months."

"Yes, and let me tell you words cannot express how glad I am that I had Christmas leave," the man gave a quick look back at Edward, "don't stand there young man, take a seat. Julie, sit like a lady so Edward can have a spot on the chesterfield."

"Sorry," the young teenager pulled her feet off the couch; smoothing her extravagant green patterned dress out, she sat herself down perfectly at the end of the couch. Moving himself over the spot made available, Ed let himself fall back into the soft cushions – it was far easier than trying to gracefully sit down. Putting his crutch on the ground, his eyes first glanced to the young man sitting on his right side, possibly a few years older than himself. Without provocation, he gave Ed a simple nod of welcome. Slowly returning the gesture, he looked back over to the girl; who'd now shifted from her perfect position to lean against the arm of the sofa. He watched her for a moment, the tight blonde curls matched how the lady at the door had her hair styled; only for this girl, an extravagant bow was tied into the back of her hair. She glanced his way momentarily and Ed felt like he'd caught her blue eyes, but it never felt like she acknowledged his presence.

"Edward," the man with the last name of Wilson asked for his attention, "this is Julie and Thomas." He motioned to the people who graced Ed's sides; he then began to go around in circle of the men, women and children enjoying the entrées and wine upon the coffee table, "this is their father, Mr. Hyland, their mother greeted you at the door. This young man is Randolph, and I believe you met his older sister Diana already," he motioned to the two children now sharing a space upon the facing couch, "And this is their father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Churchill."

Ed gave a nod to each person within the room, he paused his traveling glance when he arrived at Mrs. Churchill, "I never got to thank you for the quilt."

"Oh goodness, you don't need to do that," her bright smile reflected around the room, "I've made quilts for the children in the hospital before when winter season set in. The extra one was no problem; I thought you'd like something a little more enjoyable than those white sheets."

"Since we had to leave the hospital, it's become an ornament for my den," Hohenheim gave a bemused smile the Churchill's way, "he sits on it if the floor's cold, he wraps himself up in it when he's reading the paper in the morning, the rest of the time he's sound asleep in it on my sofa."

Ed's hand came up to his forehead as he glared bullets back to Hohenheim, sinking in the cushions a little. The adults within the room burst into laughter at Ed's obvious disapproval of the story Hohenheim had just told.

"You embarrassed him Hohenheim! For shame," one of the voices laughed.

A grossly unimpressed look sat on Ed's face as he let the laughter continue around him knowing that if he even raised his voice, he'd give away his embarrassment further. His gaze drifted curiously back to Julie as she giggled; she never looked his way, simply living in her own world as she stared at the beige sofa arm.

It was Mr. Wilson's voice that finally ended the ruckus, "Winston, I've been meaning to ask, how have your dealings with Lloyd been going?"

"Bah," Churchill sat back in his spot, "the man is tied, seems I have too many political enemies in the Conservatives to do anything right now. He promises to try and weave some magic for me once the new government is settled, I look forward to when he does."

"The change of government is good though," Hohenheim piped into the conversation, "perhaps the change can bring an end to this war sooner."

"Cheers to that."

Ed once again looked over to Julie sitting silently on his left; she continued to stare off into space without concern for what she was looking at. Something about her had his curiously, but he could not place what exactly; he suspected it had something to do with her apparent disinterest in what was going on. The noise of the adults became background static. Attentions were grabbed however when Ms. Hyland's voice came from the kitchen, "Julie, would you give me a hand in here please."

"There's something on the floor Julie, watch your step," came her older brother's voice from Ed's opposite side.

Ed reached down to move his crutch, "I'll move it."

"It's okay," it was the first time she'd shared her voice since Ed had gotten there; he watched her whisk out of the room. He tilted his head, confused by how oddly she moved, barely picking her feet up from the floor.

"She's blind," it was Thomas whose low voice had spoken up and caught Ed's attention, "if that's what you were wondering about. You kept looking at her."

Ed's expression grew concerned, "But her eyes, she looked at me; they were fine."

Thomas shook his head, "She blinks, she cries, she looks around, but she doesn't see anything. A few years ago she became quite sick, an infection spread, and she lost her sight," he watched as Ed looked towards the exit leading to the kitchen, "but this is her house, she knows where everything is; she's really sharp that way. Mother always lets her help in the kitchen." Though he hesitated momentarily in doing so, Thomas gave Ed a backhanded slap where the empty sleeve hung at his right shoulder to grab his attention, "Hey, Churchill's kids took off upstairs, and politics bores me to tears. We can go to the kitchen and be taste testers for my mother's cooking. Worst that can happen is she'll put us to work and we can sample the stuff as we go."

Ed gave him a puzzled eye, confused by the sudden invite, "I'll be in the way," it was a comment of truth he did not normally to admit to.

"No more in the way than Julie. Come on, before your father turns you into conversation fodder again."

That was enough for Ed; the boys announced their exiting intentions to the remainder of the guests.

* * *

"Louise this was excellent! How am I supposed to top this next Christmas Eve?" Mrs. Churchill dropped her napkin over her finished plate.

"Lots of coffee Clementine, lots of coffee," Mrs. Hyland gave a crooked grin in response.

A few of the guests laughed as they sat around two large oak tables that had been pushed together. What was left of Christmas dinner and all it's trimmings was now simply a mess that would become leftovers for the next several days. All the party members, from ages two to however old Ed thought Hohenheim might be, sat around the table, passing plates to Mrs. Hyland as she collected them. One by one, the elders at the table would excuse themselves to the living room once more.

Mrs. Hyland smiled down at Edward as she took the plate from him, "Are you sure you're finished, dear?"

Ed gave an affirmative nod and a thank-you as she took his plate. While doing so, he did not catch the look Hohenheim gave Wilson as he excused himself from the table.

"Edward, would you come upstairs with me please?" Mr. Wilson pushed up from his seat.

Somewhat caught off guard by the request, Ed replied affirmatively. Picking his crutch up from the floor, he stood himself up and followed the man out of the room. Scaling the stairs twice as fast as Ed managed, Charles waited at the top and watched Edward make his assent.

"Now then, I think she said… oh that's right. We're going into the Hyland's study, come along."

Growing more perplexed as he made his way up the stairs and down the long unlit hall, Ed followed the man into the study. Wilson turned on the lamp while Ed gave the door a push to close it after he'd come in. The room, like everything else in the house, was large and neatly decorated; everything from the desk to bookcases to the coat rack was a dark oak. A few wooden chairs sat in front of the study desk; though Ed thought that if he chose to sat down, he'd sit on the maroon cushioned seats lining the door's wall.

Leaning up against the desk within the weak light, Wilson looked questioningly at Edward, "You don't remember who I am do you?"

Ed turned his attention around and looked at the man, he narrowed his gaze in thought of the question.

"I visited you a few times around the end of September, early October while you were in the hospital. I wasn't sure if you'd remember that or not," the man's sombre voice echoed within the room.

Slouching against his crutch, Ed's eyes looked away from the man as if to feign an interest elsewhere within the room, "I saw a lot of people in that hospital, I can't remember everyone."

"I didn't think you did. It's not your fault, don't put on such a face," the man encouraged Ed to drop his act and offered a bit of additional information to shed some light on his presence, "I worked at St. Mary's Medical School before the war started, I'm looking to go back when this war is over."

"Wait, did _he_ put you up to this?" his voice suddenly snapped and the expression upon Ed's face soured into his scowl, "I'm besieged by doctors everywhere I go. This is ridiculous."

Wilson laughed at the sudden vicious life that showed up in Ed, "Yes, I can imagine you're pretty tired of seeing us by now."

His expression made it clear he was not entertained by the comments.

Giving a sigh, the man turned and stepped behind the desk. He produced an extra long black case, which he put up onto the desk, followed by a tote bag. Ed analyzed the man's motions carefully as he moved, unzipping the bag.

"Has your cough cleared? You haven't had any problems in the last few weeks?"

"For the _thousandth_ time NO. I don't know how many times I have to repeat myself to everyone I'm feeling fine, and I have been fine all month," Ed raised his voice as he snapped back; his fierce expression cutting into the man before him.

Looking up from his baggage, Charles raised an eyebrow unfazed by his behaviour; "Your father says you've started to make an embarrassing scene whenever the doctors come to check up on you."

"I told that old man that I don't need to see those doctors any more. I'm really sick of his voice and how he insists he knows what's best for me," the option for Ed to belt out the last word and storm out of the room was a non factor; since it would take too long for him to open and close the door, let alone get down the hall and stairs.

Charles light laughter didn't help Ed's sudden foul mood, "You sound just like Thomas use to some days, but I knew his dad would let me box his ears for that. Trust me, I have no problem dealing with upstart teenagers. Why don't you have a seat?"

Ed glanced behind where he stood, the firm maroon cushions attached to square sectionals stretched from the coat rack next to the door all the way to the wall. He figured they must get pulled out as seating during office meetings, as opposed to the hard chairs. Turning forward again, he saw Mr. Wilson snap stethoscope ends around his neck. With the full motion of his arm, he threw the crutch to the floor in some immature fit of frustration and fell backwards into the cushions; he winced sharply when his head hit the wall unintentionally.

Grabbing a wooden chair from in front of the desk, Charles pulled it over to his cranky adversary, "How do you sleep?"

"Just fine," came the flat response.

"I doubt that," the man sat down, "I meant do you sleep on your stomach, your side, or your back?"

After a momentary pause to consider the question, Ed narrowed his eyes, "On my back," was the cautious reply.

At that, the man reached down, grabbed Ed at his ankle and swung his leg up onto the length of cushions. Ed started to straighten up as he was suddenly spun to the side, "What are you-" he barely had time to gasp before Wilson's hand found his neck and pushed him back down onto the cushions. Ed's own left hand found it's way to his neck after the man had walked away. He watched, startled and wide eyed, as Wilson made his way back to the desk.

"Lay there for a few minutes," Wilson sat himself down in the large leather backed desk chair and opened up a coiled book which he began jotting in.

Ed's eyes continued to watch the man with definite concern, his hand coming to his mouth as he cleared his throat. Finally giving up on his vigilance, Ed turned his attention to the ceiling, which was just as un-entertaining as everything else. He lost track of time as his mind struggled to remain focused; Ed subconsciously fought with himself to keep from coughing. He hated laying on his back for just that reason.

From the corner of his eye he caught movement; Ed jumped in surprise, startled by Wilson's sudden reappearance at the chair next to him. The man reached out and pulled Ed's tie off of his neck. Rubbing his hand over his face Ed gave off a disgruntled sigh realizing he simply did not have the energy to fight with the man; he knew the routine and undid the top three buttons of his shirt.

"You're a better sport than I thought," he put the cold end of the stethoscope end under his shirt; Ed's head rolled away so he could stare at the wall, "now tell me Edward, do you want to hear what I'm listening to or can you feel that every time you try to inhale?"

Ed's eyes tightened as he stared at the wall, barking 'shut up' or any other foul two-word combination was a waste of breath.

Deciding that he'd spent enough time invading Ed's heavily guarded bubble of privacy, Wilson stood up and unhooked the stethoscope from his neck, "That will clear up. Get a few more pillows so you're not flat on your back when you sleep; that should stop your cough. Once you're able to relax, it will do your body a wonder of good. Drink a lot of water as well, as hot as you like. The warmth is much more soothing. If you're still having problems sleeping, take a shot of brandy, it'll put you out."

Ed's eyes shot back over to him as he slowly sat up, somewhat concerned by the last statement. He watched the man walk back to the desk; from within the tote bag he tossed a dark fabric at him. Catching it up, Ed turned it over in his lap to figure out what he'd been handed.

"They're shorts. Put them on, I want to look at what's left of your leg. I'll be right back," and as he walked out of the room, the good doctor picked up the crutch laying carelessly in the middle of the floor, tucked it under his arm, and promptly exited.

Ed watched the door shut behind Wilson, his mouth hanging partially open as he tried to understand what this man thought he was doing by running away with his crutch.

The gathering of families collectively looked up from their tea as Wilson re-entered the room. The adults waited for Hohenheim to ask the question that had obviously kept him anti-social since the Doctor had left with his son. It was Churchill who asked the question Hohenheim could not.

"So?"

"He'll be fine after a few nights of good rest. He's exhausted; you can see it on him clear as day if it's not evident in his behaviour," Wilson rolled his eyes as he walked around the congregation to an open chair, "There's still fluid in his lungs, that's what's not letting him sleep," he sat down in an open chair and looked to Hohenheim, "give him a few extra pillows, cushions and what not to prop himself up on while he sleeps. It'll keep the fluid from moving up and causing the irritation; he'll be able to get some decent rest once he stops coughing. When his body's not so tired, he'll be far better able to take care of himself; perhaps his disposition will brighten a little. I can't prescribe much more than what's been done for him already," picking up his pipe from the table, Wilson flicked a match into it, "you can take that look off your face now, it's been making everyone around you nervous."

Hohenheim's eyes widened slightly by the comment before he found himself suffering through the onset of laughter in relief of the stress, "Thank you."

Churchill gave Hohenheim a firm pat on his shoulder as he laughed alongside, "I told you, you were worrying too much. He'd be in much dire straights if he'd relapsed."

"Make sure he eats, shove it down his throat if he's being stubborn about it. He didn't finish everything at dinner and he looks quite thin; that was something that bothered me," Wilson took a deep inhale from his pipe, "He's a foul little bugger, how do you put up with him? If he were my son I would have boxed his ears or given him a good slap in the face for his behaviour. I can see why he's been frustrating you."

Hohenheim shook his head at the comment, "That's not how I do things Charles."

"Well now that's interesting; he was very pleasant in the kitchen before dinner," Mrs. Hyland re-crossed her legs, having kept silent for most of the conversation she'd suddenly drawing the two men's attention, "he was very charming helping Julie out. I needed the potatoes peeled and I had no intention of letting her handle a knife like that. Thomas volunteered the boy's services but Edward couldn't do it with just one hand, so Julie sat on his lap and handled the potatoes while he peeled them. He was very well mannered and good about the whole thing," she gave the men a doubtful look as she questioned the sincerity of their complaint against Ed.

Hohenheim fell silent at that for a moment, his eyes countered Louise as if to determine the validity of her statement. Her honest eyes looked back at him, in return questioning his assessment of Ed. He finally gave a hefty exhale and sank back into the couch once more, "That's… reassuring."

Wilson once again put his pipe back down on the table and stood up from his seat, "I've given him enough time. We'll see how this goes over." Walking around the gathering, Wilson stopped a few moments after having passed Hohenheim, "He needs to know how sick he was in that hospital, Hohenheim. He obviously doesn't remember or he wouldn't behave this poorly."

"I'll find an appropriate time talk to him Charles," Hohenheim wondered if his reassuring voice worked on everyone but himself.

Wilson continued to examine him for any further reaction; well aware that everyone in that room had told cranky boy's father the exact same thing, and each one had been given the same response. With an unimpressed sigh, he continued on his journey back up to the study. Moving up the stairs once more and back into the room where he'd exited minutes before, Wilson looked down to see if Ed had complied with the request.

As much as he wished he could, Ed's desire to fold his arms in protest was something he was unable to do. But having done as he'd been told, he sat in the black cotton shorts with his white dress shirt and ponytail as he stared off bitterly into the corner.

Charles grinned and once again sat down in the seat before Ed, "That jolly good, it healed over better than I thought it would," he ran his fingers over the most prominent jagged scar line cutting across the bottom of Ed's stumped left leg. Ed flinched in his place at the touch and Charles looked glanced up to the boy's invaded expression.

"Sorry, is it sensitive?"

"Your hand is cold," Ed gave out under his breath as he turned his head away again.

The smile fell back upon Wilson's face and he stood up and re-approached the desk. Placing the tote bag back down on the floor, the doctor opened the black case upon the desk, "This should be good enough for now."

Looking out of the corner of his eye, Ed watched the man produced a wooden leg from within the case. Giving the man his full attention, he turned himself to sit square on the cushion while Wilson moved back to Edward.

"It should do you for now, until you find something more to your liking," Wilson held the contraption in his hands for Ed's suddenly silent expression to look at, "Prosthetics is not my specialty, but I had an old working buddy give me a hand in getting this; I took the measurements some time ago, so you better not have grown," Wilson was unaware that his comments should have provoked a violent response, yet Ed sat silent, "The ankle has a fairly good range of motion, the artificial tendons inside allow for the toes to push back; that'll help you walk easier. The knee joint is quite durable from what I was told; I don't suggest you do much running or pounding up and down the stairs though," sitting back down on the chair, the leg across his lap, he watched Ed continue to find himself at a loss for something to say.

"Do you want to try it out?" his eyes peered into Edward's humbled expression. Finally letting the mix of emotions fade away; Ed's gave recognition to Wilson's request.

"I can't afford something like that, I shouldn't," even if he thought for a moment he wanted to stand square on two legs, he could never bring himself to ask the man downstairs...

Grabbing him under his arm, Wilson pulled Ed off his seat to a standing position. With the sudden imbalance he felt from the swift motion, Ed instinctively gripped tightly upon the man's shoulder to keep from falling. The doctor remained crouched over, steadying the leg upright on the ground. Giving Ed a slap on his left hip, he barked out a request, "Step down."

At the command, Ed shifted his unbalanced weight and stepped down with his left side; he stopped without toppling over, suddenly square to the world. It was the first time since he'd first gotten out of the hospital bed that he'd been able to do such a thing. He looked down quickly at the casing, engulfing much of what remained of his left thigh; it seemed so crude from what he was used to, yet it did not bother him as much as it may have under other circumstances. As if playing with a new toy, Ed rolled through the motions of his kneecap, ankle and toes; the back of his mind thought how odd it felt to have his leg move through motion-control and not at the command of his own body. Unable to choose anything appropriate to say, he found himself saying nothing instead.

"That is yours by the way," Wilson said, standing himself up straight. He looked down to Edward who finally opened his mouth to speak, but the man stopped him, "Your father wanted to give that to you, but he was concerned you'd reject it if it came from him," the comment stopped Ed from challenging. His eyes fell before his head drooped; he glanced to the leg once more as he rolled through the ankle. He took a sharp inhale and clenched his fist. Wilson's voice caught him once again, "It's the wrong time of year for you to act as though you're an ungrateful child."

"Everyone in this city keeps referring to me as a child. I keep telling you I'm not," Ed's voice contained no bite; his mind was too distracted.

"You are always someone's child, no matter how old you are or how far away they are. I am twice your age, and I will always be my mother and father's child," Wilson challenged Ed's comment. The fall of Ed's defensive posture was as good as he could have expected, "and your father wishes you a Merry Christmas."

Ed shut his eyes as his shoulders fell; he took a deep breath in through his nose to re-organize his train of thought, and exhaled just as slowly before opening his eyes again, "I wish he wouldn't…"

Wilson narrowed his eyes at the response. He moved back to the wooden chair he'd claimed as his own, and sat down once more, "Have a seat for a few minutes." He glanced back up to Ed who moved cautiously at the request. Wilson waited for him to follow the cue.

* * *

Staring absently across the room, Ed sat upon the floor. Propped up against the couch; his legs were outstretched beneath the coffee table. As if his mind were no longer in the presence of the room, his head sat tilted upon his neck as his gaze burned within the crackling fireplace. Hanging untied around his shoulders, a few ends of Ed's blonde hair dangled in the collar of his shirt; only three quarters buttoned up.

Hohenheim stood at the side of the couch, within Ed's peripheral vision. The longer he stood silent in place, the more he grew concerned at the lack of a response to his presence. He'd initially become concerned while the night wore on at the Hyland residence. He had no idea what to make of Ed's subdued reaction to the leg; was it a good or a bad thing. Ed had remained distant offering very little to the conversations all evening; his interest seemed elsewhere. Perhaps the most startling occurrence that night was his request to go home around ten o'clock; though Hohenheim did not ask for a reason, Ed provided that he felt tired.

And since the moment he claimed his place within the den, Ed sat upon the floor as devoid of existence as the rag dolls on a child's shelf. Finally, bending over, Hohenheim placed the teacup in front of his son. It was that action which finally caught Ed's attention; he brought a hand up to rub his eye.

"Hot water seems sort of plain, I thought you'd like tea instead."

Ed's eyes glanced at the teacup as he shifted in place but gave no reply, his emptied expression ever-present.

"Don't sleep on my couch tonight either," Hohenheim stepped back from the table, "you can walk yourself upstairs to bed."

"I don't want your charity, old man."

It was a scripted line that he'd been hearing far too often over the last month and a bit. There was a scripted accompanying reply that Hohenheim did not give today; something in hollowness of Ed's voice did not provoke it. He simply turned and started towards the hallway.

"Hey."

It wasn't so much the call that stopped Hohenheim, but rather the absence of tone that caught his attention. He waited in the late night for Edward to speak up once more, and they let the silence drag on until he was ready to speak again.

"Don't think that anything you'll ever do for me will make me forgive you."

Dropping his head slightly as he stood, Hohenheim slid his hands in his pockets, "I wouldn't expect you to," continuing to intrude upon the aura of the room, he waited to see if more would come of the conversation. The clock made the loudest statement, as it began its twelve chimes for the new day. Having turned once more to exit the uncomfortable presence, Hohenheim kept an unfazed voice as the clock rang out, "Make sure you get to bed soon."

"Wait..."

Once again stopping before he could leave the room, Hohenheim waited for whatever comment would slap him next. By the time the echo of the final chime ceased; Ed's voice took its place.

"Your friends are interesting people," his voice trailed off as Hohenheim turned over his shoulder at the statement, "Mrs. Hyland is a good cook, Mr. Churchill's was entertaining at dinner, I hope Julie is able to be successful," he straightened his head upon his shoulders while he spoke, "I couldn't remember Mr. Wilson, I think he figured that out on his own."

"You weren't doing well last time he'd seen you."

"After he gave me the leg, he told me some of what went on in the hospital."

"That…" Hohenheim's brow rose in sudden concern at the statement, "What did he tell you?"

The silence fell back upon the room as Hohenheim stood in-wait for a response. The light from the fireplace flickered its shadows around the room.

"Edward?"

"Sorry, I've been nothing but a problem for you."

Turning back into the room, Hohenheim moved over to Ed. He gave the coffee table a push out of the way before grabbing Ed under his arm; using only the one hand, he pulled the boy to his feet. Standing in front of him, he straightened the shirt at Ed's shoulders and collar. Hohenheim turned him around, pulling the hair tie out of his own hair as he did so. And though Ed's head tipped forward with a downcast expression, his father straightened his posture and pulled the blonde hair up into a ponytail for him, "you haven't been a problem."

All Ed could do was give a weak scoff at the comment.

Turning him back to face forward again, Hohenheim's hands came to rest on Ed's shoulders; he would find the strength to discuss the issue another day when they both felt better, "I think you should get some sleep, you'll feel better in the morning." the sigh Ed gave was as good as an acceptance; though Hohenheim had been referring to more than just his physical condition.

"If you sleep the night through, maybe Santa Clause will leave you a present."

"Is there something wrong with the present I already got?" his own puzzled comment on foreign holiday finally brought Ed out of whatever disillusioned state he'd locked himself up in; as he spoke, he did not notice the weight that lifted off of his father's shoulders. "That has to be the stupidest story I've ever heard. Big fat man, chimneys, sack of gifts; isn't this a religious holiday? Is the fat-man supposed to have something to do with religion?"

Not wanting to break the new flow of the conversation, Hohenheim took no time to adjust within the transition, "I don't believe so. But I haven't asked anyone; I don't think either of us should," a grin crossed his face at the thought of people's reactions.

"We'd sound pretty stupid, wouldn't we?"

"Most likely."

* * *

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter goes back to normal. 
> 
> I'm running with the assumption that the Christmas holiday does not exist in Amestris (religious reasons).
> 
> Though I try to have all the characters in Europe be based on a historical someone, the Hylands are entirely fictional.


End file.
